End of Red John Start of a New Life - Part II
by LouiseKurylo
Summary: AU: Red John is dead. Abbott is mopping up the Blake Association. What happens to the CBI, to Lisbon's team and Jane? Here is one version if the CBI continued intact. Jisbon in last chapter.
1. Chapter 1 - Sorting Through the Pieces

**A/N: To Guest (March 4): I'm very much interested in your reaction: **"Your jane & lisbon in this were were very au & not like the show unfortunately..." **If you have time/inclination, I very much would like to better understand your "take." Please feel free to expand on your comment if you have the time. Thanks for reading and your interesting comment.**

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**End of Red John / Start of a New Life - Part II**

**Chapter 1: Sorting Through the Pieces**

**Jane**

Jane pressed "SEND" on the burner cell phone. Lisbon would get the text, would know he was coming back. It was the last particle of energy he could spare for any concern outside of himself.

Exhaustion and pain couldn't be denied forever. Everything he put off at the hospital came boiling back, insistent, overwhelming, an almost physical pressure inside his head. His arm hurt continuously. Then the rest of his body cramped and ached from his effort to baby his arm. Drained, he had all he could do to stay awake as he headed toward the coast, driving toward the stillness and seclusion he craved. The third time he caught himself dropping off he forced himself to exit at a rest stop and buy a Coke. The sugar and caffeine might keep him awake till he reached the resort.

Two hours later he turned right onto a narrow road which was almost lost in the trees. Unlit and unmarked, it would be easy to miss for anyone who didn't know it was there. A mile long entrance drive ended at the low, unobtrusive administrative and recreational building. He pulled up to the bank of electronic mailboxes. After a moment, he gathered the strength to get out, key in the code that had been provided by the resort manager when he called and made the reservation. He took the magnetic key cards and drove to the farthest cabin. Enclosed parking was underneath the raised, circular structure. He pulled the door closed behind his car then wearily climbed the stairs. He headed to the nearest bedroom. After removing shoes and the sling for his left arm, he managed a compromise between avoiding pain and finding a comfortable sleeping position. Deep, dreamless sleep claimed him immediately.

**Lisbon**

Cho dropped Lisbon off at her townhouse an hour after leaving Carson Springs, well after midnight. Thoughts full of their Red John take-down, she shivered a bit as she unlocked the door, glad Cho was waiting till she was inside before pulling away. Still too keyed up to turn in, she started to make coffee, then decided on tea – a concession to her desire to wind down and a silent nod to Jane. She resolutely pushed thoughts aside about how to keep Jane and her team safe from Red John's friends, Blake members, and even Visualize believers, knowing there was nothing she could do till morning. After drinking the tea and relaxing on the couch for a half hour, she finally felt ready to sleep. Haffner's face haunted the darkness. His warning to stay away from Jane during that murder case, her nightmare after being marked with Partridge's blood, the subtly threatening vibe when he visited her at the hospital – they all jostled in her memory and then dreams. Lisbon shuddered recalling Haffner's job offer and the few moments she had been tempted by it. She wondered how she – and Jane! – could have taken so long to ID Haffner as Red John. Her last thought was that sociopaths were inherently hard to read. They do not have to work at hiding feelings because normal feelings for others such as empathy and sympathy were simply absent in their make-up. She was in the middle of a prayer of thanks when sleep overtook her.

**Cho**

Cho slammed his fist into the bag, grunting at the solid thwack against the leather. Still on edge, he had driven to the CBI gym after dropping Lisbon off. An hour later, he had just about burned off the tension and emotions of the night's work. No small part of his workout was occasioned by Jane. Cho's admiration and friendship for the man were in raw tension with his frustration at the risks Jane took – _unnecessary_ risks, _unjustified_ risks in his opinion. Sure, Jane closed cases. His crazy gambles paid off oftener than Jane had any decent right to expect. But Jane was oblivious to the enormous cost he imposed on the team by taking those risks. No one wanted a friend and colleague to suffer the consequences of stupid risks, especially when he and Rigsby felt a special obligation to try to keep him alive. Cho resolved to metaphorically pound that point into Jane's head the next chance he got – meanwhile taking his frustration out on the punching bag.

Finished with the gym, he allowed himself to buy a candy bar and Coke. They had, after all, taken Red John down.

**Rigsby and Van Pelt**

Leaning back against the couch, Rigsby cradled Van Pelt in his arms.

Grace had been an emotional wreck for hours after they got back from Carson Springs. It had taken her two years to get past O'Laughlin's betrayal, to begin to regain confidence in her own judgment. Wayne still missed a certain sweetness in her and figured it was probably gone forever after those events. This night, killing Red John - Haffenr - had dredged it all back up. Finally, finally she was exhausted and cried out. Leaning back into his arms, she relaxed, told him she finally felt clean again, no longer degraded and disgraced. He kissed her cheek as she fell asleep against him. Something tight inside him unwound, at peace at last that she was all right after he had failed to protect her from O'Laughlin and Red John. Jane wasn't the only one who had been scarred.


	2. Chapter 2 - Picking Up the Pieces

**Chapter 2: Picking Up the Pieces**

**Van Pelt**

Disoriented, it took a moment before Van Pelt recognized where she was. She had fallen asleep in her husband's arms on the couch. _And we got Red John last night!_ Her pulse quickened with the tidal wave of elation...and relief, closure. _Yes, yes it's real. We did it._

Tamping back her emotion to move slowly and quietly, Van Pelt got up carefully letting Rigsby sleep. They got back from Carson Springs late yesterday - too late to get Ben from the baby sitter, so they had the apartment to themselves. She puttered around, started a pot of coffee and went to shower and dress. On the way she glanced in the spare bedroom they used as a home office. She had left two computers working on decrypting the file from the thumb drive found in Bertram's wine storage locker. Her happy squeal had Rigsby up and by her side in an instant.

"What? What's wrong, Grace?"

"I got the file decrypted!" she exclaimed happily. Left to run for hours, the decryption software had finally produced results.

Yawning, "Uhh, that's great. –Do I smell coffee?"

"Do you _ever_ think about anything except your stomach, Babe?"

"Uh, not for long," he admittedly sheepishly. Waking more fully, "Uhh, you mean you've got the Blake Association list? _That_ file?"

"Uh-huh. Here, look," she offered, scrolling down the list on the computer.

"Man, there are some _names_ on that list," Rigsby muttered, impressed and appalled. They recognized enough known BA members to be confident it was indeed a membership list.

"I've gotta get this to Lisbon right away," she said. She printed three copies, snagged the drive and put it all in a large envelope.

"Yeah," he agreed, emotions careening between glad, upset, surprised, and grim affirmation, depending on the names he was reading. They were ready and out in record time.

**Lisbon's Team**

Lisbon called in some favors and got the CBI forensics specialists to analyze Jane's cell phone recording first thing. Then she went on to her office. She set her purse on her desk and looked up as Van Pelt charged in. "'Morning. What's up?"

"Broke the list," Van Pelt said, excited. "Here." She handed Lisbon the envelope.

Lisbon's eyes widened as she scanned the list. "Excellent work. How did you do all this after yesterday?"

"Brute force program. It just ran on the computers over night."

"Your timing couldn't be better."

Lisbon called the team into her office. She had them read the list and kept two copies for herself. Knowing who was corrupt literally could make the difference between life and death for each of them. A call from the governor's office interrupted their meeting. No matter the utter disruption of the CBI, corpses and crime scene evidence simply couldn't wait. Thanks to helping the governor's aide and the general high regard for her, Lisbon's team was getting assigned even more cases than ususal.

"Cho, Rigsby. You two start on the case. Cho, you're lead. I've got to meet with Abbott right away. Van Pelt, see if you can ping Jane's burner phone. I need to know where he is."

"What about Jane?" asked Rigsby.

"Is he okay?" Van Pelt added unnecessarily.

"He's fine. The injuries weren't too bad. He left after the hospital," Lisbon answered. "He needs some time. Said he'll be back, but nothing about where he'll be."

"What about the left over Blake, Red John, and Visualize types? There might be hard feelings after recent events." asked Cho.

"That's one of the things I need to see Abbott about."

"Boss, uh, about last night's shooting. Are we still active duty? What about the mandatory psych evaluation?"

"Rigs, everything's up in the air at CBI. I don't know about the evaluations. If any of you feel off balance because of it, I _want_ you to take a little down time. If you're up to it, go ahead and work this new case. Van Pelt, let me know Jane's location right away. Then go ahead on the case, too."

Lisbon picked up the forensics report on her way to Abbott's office.

**Lisbon and Abbott**

Lisbon bearded Abbott in his office at 9 a.m. His assistant tried to deflect her from barging in without an appointment. Hearing her voice, Abbott stepped out and invited her in, closing the door. He sat behind his desk, she took a chair across from him.

After a moment, "Well, Agent Lisbon, you do get around." When she didn't reply, "Last week Blake Association. Yesterday, Red John – or so you say."

Lisbon tilted her chin up slightly at the implied challenge. "So I say. We have some things to discuss, Agent."

"Your team _killed_ Haffner. If -_ if_ he even was Red John, Jane's revenge robbed me of a valuable source of leads in Blake... And I was just starting to trust you," he added in mock dismay.

She leaned forward, pinning him with her gaze. "Trust cuts both ways. We need to take a walk. Outside where we're sure it's private." She got up and walked out, certain he'd follow. After a moment, he did, impressed with her badass sparring.

In the parking lot, Lisbon paused by her CBI SUV and tossed in her cell phone. She held the door open and Abbott reluctantly followed suit with his own. She locked the door. After crossing the street to the small park, she began.

"Abbott, I can be very helpful, but I need some things in return. All of this is off the record," she said, glancing back at the SUV holding their cell phones to emphasize the point.

"I'm listening."

She took a letter-sized sheet torn in half and handed it to Abbott. "Recognize any names?"

His eyes widened. "Where did you get this?"

"Blake Association membership list. Rather, _part_ of a list."

Cold anger flooded his face. "That's evidence you were supposed to turn in last week."

Calmly, "The file was encrypted. I got this an hour ago."

"Why shouldn't I haul you up on charges right now?"

"Because I'm not corrupt. And you're not stupid." They sat down on a park bench. Lisbon turned to face him.

"We both want Blake taken down. My team already has been threatened by Blake more than once. And I don't want corrupt law enforcement in my town, my state. Second, Haffner _was_ Red John, but he _wasn't_ Blake." She went through Jane's reasoning.

"Even if that's true, I don't work with rogue cops. Your team executed Haffner for Jane's revenge."

"I can _prove_ Haffner was Red John and his take-down was by the book. Haffner's knife should have DNA trace from previous Red John victims. And-" She handed Abbott a sheaf of papers. "-Jane's cell phone recorded the whole thing. The audio analysis by Forensics shows five gunshot spikes. Haffner fired first. His bullet struck concrete, which is also clear on the audio. Our four shots all hit Haffner. All four bullets will be accounted for when the ME does his autopsy."

Angry again, "Why did you remove evidence before my agents secured the crime scene?"

"Jane was injured. He gave me his cell at the hospital. And I took Haffner's knife so the hospital could take samples for culturing, see what Jane was exposed to. I gave it to your agent when he took Jane's statement at the hospital."

Abbott unbent a fraction. "My agents got statements from everyone but you last night," Lisbon's eyebrows rose in surprise, "Your stories are consistent. Either you're telling the truth, or your lying is very, very good. Assuming Haffner's death doesn't compromise my investigation, what do you want?"

"I want two things. I need protection from Blake, Red John friends, and Visualize for Jane and maybe others on my team. Until a new CBI director is appointed, there's no way I can arrange that myself. In return you get the Blake list.."

"Which you should give me anyhow as an officer of the law."

She stopped and looked him in the eye. "Until an hour ago, I wasn't sure _your_ name wouldn't be on that list. Mine isn't either. Now let's cut the BS and reach an agreement." After a moment he had the grace to drop his gaze, acknowledging her point. She continued. "You get the full Blake list. And, I'm throwing in Sean Barlow."

Abbott scowled. He knew the name from his agents' report on the Carson Springs operation. "Why do I care about him?"

"How long has the FBI been after Visualize?"

He straightened. "A long time."

She had his interest. "Jane thinks Sean Barlow helped finance the early years of Visualize. Barlow must know where some skeletons are buried. He'll deal to save his skin." Abbott leaned back, all but salivating. She continued, "Yeah. Blake Association and Visualize. Either one could make your career. Not to mention put a lot of scum behind bars."

"You said you wanted two things. What's the other one?"

"I want my team acknowledged for breaking the Blake network open–"

"You've already got that."

"–_and_ credit for getting Red John. As part of Red John, Jane gets access to Sean Barlow."

"Why?"

"Sean Barlow was around when Jane grew up. He may be able to answer some personal questions."

Abbott allowed himself a small smile. "You're going to a lot of trouble for your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend. I'm going to do whatever it takes to protect my team and get them the credit they earned. You have a problem with that?"

"No. Charmingly admirable."

"So?"

"We have a deal."

Lisbon shook his hand. "You get Bertram's thumb drive after you deliver on both requests."

That earned her a smile. "Requests. Funny, Agent."

She got their cell phones from her SUV and turned to walk away.

"Lisbon"

She paused and looked back.

"What would you have done with the list if I didn't deal?"

"Given it to you anyway. But I _am_ holding you to those promises."

He muttered to himself as she walked away, "I'm sure you will. Interesting."

**Jane**

Jane became aware of the sound of surf breaking on the shore. He hovered between sleep and waking, pleasantly embraced by the comfortable bed, soft pillows and fluffy down comforter. Even though it was summer, the room's temperature was perfect for sleep.

Still dark or, rather, dark again, at first he couldn't place ... anything. The surf made it seem like Malibu, but the room was all wrong. He eventually recalled the resort he stayed at after performing in San Francisco clubs for well-heeled gay members. His talents and looks perfectly met the entertainment requirements of those crowds. So long as it was look-but-don't-touch, it worked for both sides.

Less than an hour's drive north of the city, the resort catered to celebrities and the seriously wealthy who valued privacy and comfort above all else. The ideal stay for guests involved quality accommodations in a beautiful setting provided by silent, invisible staff. The small number of "cabins" – really, circular huts on stilts – provided living quarters above for the best views down hillsides forested with bay, madrone, and oak trees. The parking and utilities on the ground level were unharmed by bad storms or mud from an occasional downpour. Each cabin was carefully sited to be invisible to the others and each had a private beach.

As he fully woke, he recalled the intervening years and tragedies. His face tensed in pain, both from remembering and from yesterday's injuries. He rose, padded to a bathroom and showered. He was pleased to find that the dressings on his chest and arm really were waterproof. He pulled a complimentary white robe from the closet. Dark outside, he realized he must have slept 18 hours or more. Famished, he found everything needed to make eggs and french toast in the stocked refrigerator. The resort offered the over-booked, the over-stimulated, the _pursued_ the option of seclusion. The comfortable, quiet luxury surrounding him began, just began to ease a tiny bit of ten years' accumulated grief, tension, and guilt. The resort was a favorite which he occasionally shared with Angela and, later, Charlotte too. Those ghosts graced the cabin, but without Malibu's residue of horror. Hunger sated, he sat on the deck outside, drinking tea and listening to the surf in the darkness. It was his first step on a path that might...eventually...lead to healing.


	3. Chapter 3 - Scattering the Pieces

**Chapter 3: Scattering the Pieces**

**Lisbon**

It was two weeks since the FBI took over the Blake Association investigation. The Red John operation was one week past. CBI internal affairs had interviewed everyone except Jane about Haffner's death. With the cell phone evidence, statements from Lisbon's team except Jane, who was taking time off from the CBI, and a surprisingly favorable report from the FBI on its involvement, La Rouche took the extraordinary step and ruled the shooting fully justified without interviewing Jane. He personally delivered the report to Lisbon, telling her he was completely confident of his conclusion. Off the record, La Rouche asked Lisbon to pass along his compliments to Jane on "finally getting the bastard."

Lisbon finished two meetings, first with the AG's aide and then with Abbott. The AG's aide had latched onto her with a death grip. Lisbon realized she apparently was his life raft in overseeing the CBI until a new director could be recruited and hired. She didn't mind the extra work too much. It allowed her to protect her team and keep the CBI functioning well enough so the daily work could continue. The delay in replacing Bertram dragged on with no end in sight.

After her hard-nosed bargaining with Abbott, Lisbon was surprised to find he valued her advice even more often than before. Of course, the BA list gave Abbott the chance to _systematically_ go after the Blake leaders. Sometimes he concentrated on a particular law enforcement agency – a PD, an FBI office a CBI branch. Sometimes he did a blanket house-cleaning of all levels of law enforcement in a whole city or county. Lisbon gave him her frank opinions of the major players. Abbott didn't always agree with her perspective. But he never regretted asking. For her part, she was content to give him unvarnished advice since he had met – and was continuing to meet – his promises. He immediately had arranged a 24/7detail to protect Jane after Van Pelt pinpointed Jane's location. And he made a point of bluntly and publicly acknowledging that Lisbon's team had uncovered the Blake Association and gotten Red John. Abbott strongly countered any insinuations by the AG's and governor's offices that the Red John operation was compromised by Jane's involvement and personal interest. Lisbon got everything she sought from Abbott.

Lisbon sighed as she got back to her CBI office. It was already mid-afternoon and she hadn't even seen her team yet. She needn't have worried. Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt were about to leave to finish up the case. Cho quickly briefed her.

"Cho, you have a handle on this. Go ahead, use your judgment. I don't have a lot to add."

"Boss, there's something I've been meaning to mention."

"Yes?" Lisbon looked up from her desk.

"We got the DNA analysis Jane requested just before the Red John take down. What do you want me to do with it?"

She glanced at the report. "Haffner was _not_ related to Stiles." Cho nodded. "But there_ is_ a relationship between sample X and Stiles." He nodded again. "Cho, Jane didn't tell me anything about this. Who's 'X'?"

Uncharacteristically, Cho cleared his throat. "Not sure."

Looking hard at him, "But you have a good idea, right?."

"Yeah," he said softly. She waited and he added, "I think 'X' might be Jane."

She closed her eyes. Remembering to breathe again, she licked her lips and finally said, "I was afraid you'd say that. I'll tell Jane the results, but I need to do it in person."

"Yeah." Cho turned to leave.

She stopped him. "Cho, thanks for heading up this case. I know I haven't contributed much. The AG's office and Abbott are sucking up a lot of my time."

"I know."

"I'll make sure you get credit, find a way to make it up to you."

"I know. Got it covered."

She smiled. "Well, my capable and reliable colleague, in that case I'm gonna leave early and drive to the coast and check in with Jane."

Faintly surprised, "He'll let you?"

"Yeah. He's texted a couple of times. I think he's working things out, and feeling a lot better."

Cho's lips quirked up the tiniest bit on the corners of his mouth – a veritable outburst of emotion for him. "Glad to hear it. Say 'hi' for us."

**Jane**

_One week after Red John._ Jane manipulated and savored and examined and wondered at that staggering thought.

_A week_.. He no longer burned with the need to avenge his family, or obsessed over how to find and kill a man he couldn't even identify. He stopped waking every morning aching at the loss of his family. That pain would never completely vanish, but the death of Red John at last placed the tragedy firmly in the past.

After ten years, death and revenge were no longer the center of his existence. Colors were somehow more vivid. Early morning walks in the forest and along the beach reacquainted him with the beauty all around him. Though his thoughts and emotions still churned with unresolved disappointments, a dawning urge strongly pulled him toward the future. For the first time in years, he admitted he _wanted_ that future despite his past. He was willing to work for it with the same determination with which he had sought revenge. He couldn't wait to reconnect with Lisbon and try to work out a future together.

It had been a week. Jane had started sorting through what Barlow and Haffner said, trying to decide what to believe, trying to integrate the new information into his understanding of his own past. It wasn't pleasant. The serene, beautiful surroundings helped, however, by providing a counterpoint to the ugliness and pain.

It had been a week so he texted Lisbon a brief note. He wanted her to know he hadn't gone off the deep end. He reassured her he was staying put. He had no intention of vanishing as he suspected she feared. She texted him back, telling him she needed to talk with him in person. Warmth flooded through him. He missed her.

Jane had just returned from a walk along the beach. An explosion ripped his cabin apart. Fire destroyed anything the explosion left.

**Abbott**

Abbott was in LA overseeing a major dragnet of BA members. His agent on the Jane detail reached him at 5:21 p.m. The cabin Jane was staying in was leveled by an explosion, apparently triggered by the car's ignition. There was no sign of Jane. Abbott swore then, controlling his emotion, he called Lisbon. She was already on her way there.

**Lisbon**

The remaining hour of the drive was a nightmare. Somehow she arrived with no memory of getting there. She had taken Cho's call and said she would call in the evening when she got back. She muscled her way into the very private resort with her badge.

Light fading in early evening, Lisbon stood looking at the blackened skeleton of a building. Nothing inside the building or car could have survived. Numb, she received the FBI agent's courtesy briefing without comment. Abbott would competently manage the crime scene and secure whatever evidence was to be had. She walked completely around the building. Nothing stood out, there was nothing noteworthy. There was nothing she could do.

After an hour, she got into the SUV and blindly started driving back to Sacramento. Thirty minutes into the drive she pulled off at a rest stop and parked at the farthest corner for privacy. Car finally still, she gave way to wracking sobs, no longer able to set aside the impact of the explosion and Jane's death.

Lisbon shrieked and wrenched around as a hand touched her shoulder.

"Easy, easy, Lisbon" Jane said softly.

She gulped, hyperventilating, stunned and not altogether sure of reality.

"Shhh." He awkwardly hugged her with his good right hand from the second row seating. "It's all right. It's okay."

Gradually her sobs lessened, turned into hiccups, and then to ragged breathing. Shaky, "Jane, you're all right?"

"I'm fine."

"How, how–"

"Here. Let me get into the front seat." He pushed off the blanket that had hidden him, got out, opened the passenger door and slid in alongside her.

"I was walking on the beach when the explosion occurred."

She grabbed the water bottle left from the drive to the coast and took a big gulp. "Abbot's agent said your car exploded. I thought – I thought you–"

He hugged her across the console, interrupting the awful image playing in her mind. "No. This morning I gave my keys to one of the staff to have my car cleaned, detailed." He sighed. "He must have started the car and triggered the explosion."

Beginning to think again, "I had Abbott assign a security detail to you. That was supposed to keep you safe."

"There are too many people with an axe to grind where I'm concerned. I wish it would have been enough."

"You have no idea who?"

Grimly. "Not really. But there's a silver lining. No one–"

She finished, "–hunts a dead man. I know. So we need to keep you hidden, pretend the explosion was successful."

He sighed, tired of having a target on his back, tired of the violence. "Makes sense." Thinking out loud, "I could stay at my apartment."

"Too obvious," she objected. "And how could we get you food if no one is supposed to be living there? –Jane, how about my townhouse?"

He leaned back against the seat, thinking. "That has some advantages. Is it something you'll be...comfortable with if it drags on? We have no idea how long it could take for it to be safer."

She noticed he didn't say "safe." _Are we ever going to be safe again? _"Jane, let's start with that for now, unless you come up with a better idea. We can change later if necessary. C'mon. I need to get home." She looked more closely at him in the gloom of the parking lot. "You look like you could use some rest, too. You're still injured."

He relaxed, letting go of the day's events. "I'm okay, but you're right."

Lisbon's phone buzzed with an incoming call. "What do I tell the guys?"

Jane shrugged. "Level with them? I'm tired of secrets and misleading them."

Pleased, "Agreed. I'll have them meet at my place a while after we get there."

An hour later Lisbon pulled into her townhouse complex and parked in front of her door. It was a deep velvety new moon night. The few distant lights did little to dispel the darkness in front of her townhouse. Lisbon got out and opened the front door without turning on any lights. Jane quickly ducked inside. They turned on no lights till all the drapes were drawn.

Forty minutes later, Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt arrived, sober and depressed. Van Pelt's face was red, her eyes puffy.

"Everyone have a seat. Things are a lot better than they seem," Lisbon started. In response to their puzzled, hopeful looks she said quietly, "Jane wasn't in the explosion." She held a hand up, halting the questions. Jane walked in to the immense relief of his colleagues. Cho and Rigsby slapped him on the back. Van Pelt hugged him, backing off only when he winced in pain from the still-raw chest wound. Jane explained what happened while Lisbon made tea for him and coffee for the others.

Ever practical, Cho asked, "Now what?"

"Not sure. I need time to think. Right now I'm going to stay with Lisbon and pretend the explosion was successful."

"Funeral, the whole bit?" asked Rigsby.

Jane nodded. "Safest way to go."

"And the FBI?" asked Van Pelt.

Lisbon grimaced. "Abbott tried, but the security detail wasn't effective. I think we keep it among us five. Jane's best protection is everyone believing he's dead. Abbott is trying to clean up Blake. I don't know what we do about Red John friends. It could even be a Visualize member who blames Jane for killing Stiles in the Malibu explosion."

"Later," Jane interrupted firmly around a yawn.

~.~.~.~

Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt left, leaving the townhouse to Lisbon and Jane. Jane rolled his head, trying to work out some of the tension. It was almost eleven and they hadn't had dinner. Lisbon threw something together from prepared food in her freezer. Tired, they ate in silence, then relocated to the couch with tea and coffee. Lisbon sat down next to Jane.

Softly, "You okay?"

He leaned his head back, eyes closed. "Tired. Disappointed we have to deal with yet more threats. Just this morning I was thinking how great it would be to move forward, have a life."

She eyed him curiously, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Isn't it about time?"

"I'd say so. Depends on what you want."

Jane took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'd like to give us a chance, see where it goes, Teresa."

Eyes suddenly moist, she squeezed back, "I want to find out. You still have things to work through, though?"

"I have a lot to make sense of. Still, it feels better after just one week." He rolled his head, again trying to relieve the tension in his shoulders.

Lisbon got up and moved around behind the couch. She put her hands on his shoulders and rhythmically began to knead. "You don't mind?"

Melting into the blessed relief he sighed in pleasure, "Mind? Feels wonderful."

Her small, strong hands deftly found the knots, the hard areas of tension and worked them out. Head back, he relaxed against the couch nearly dozing. Hands tired, she finished. Pausing a moment, she dared to kiss him lightly on the head. His lips curled in a slight smile. He reached back to take her hand and drew her around the couch to sit beside him.

He leaned toward her and brushed his lips to hers. "I've wanted to do that...forever, I think."

She returned the kiss, "Me too. But, now?"

He drew a breath and let it out slowly. "No, not quite. I really have to sort a lot out. And, I want to be able to focus on _us_, not the latest threat. But, soon."

She said softly, "Do you know what you want now that there is an 'after'?"

He opened his eyes and caught her gaze. Seriously, "I don't know everything. I do know I want you, want to see where we end up. Teresa, I have no plans to go anywhere. Is that good enough...for the time being?"

She smiled at him, "For the time being."

They turned in. Jane would sleep in the guest bedroom upstairs. Lisbon vetoed the couch as too exposed. One nosy neighbor, one unexpected visitor would give him away if he slept on the couch. If he kept quiet, he would be well hidden at the townhouse. Her sheer curtains under the draw drapes made it impossible to see in from outside during the day. At night, they would have to be careful to close the drapes before turning on lights. She promised to buy food on the way home the next day.

Lisbon set Jane up with a towel and toothbrush. He had a set of clothes from the last time he had crashed at her apartment after she was marked by Red John with Brett Partridge's blood. For the first time she consciously realized he was wearing khaki shorts and a casual blue shirt and no shoes. She would have Cho retrieve some clothes from his apartment.

Tomorrow would be busy. After all, there were several thousand people who wanted Jane dead.


	4. Chapter 4 - Putting the Pieces Together

**Chapter 4: Putting the Pieces Together**

**Lisbon and Jane**

Lisbon hurried to finish dressing, the smell of coffee and breakfast unexpected and enticing.

Jane had slept the night on her couch several times over the years. Most often, he ended up at her townhouse after the bitter disappointment of a near miss in getting Red John. Then kindness and practicality won out over her self-imposed rules of proper professional conduct. Working with Jane ("managing him" was at most a polite CBI fiction) was ordinarily a challenge. When he was stressed and dejected over yet another setback, he made her life miserable for weeks afterward, even when it was obviously unintentional. A night on her couch mitigated the fallout to a surprising extent. But he had never made breakfast before. Not only hadn't she let him. He also avoided any extra domestic familiarity: A night on the couch by itself dangerously tempted fate – Red John - enough as it was.

Breakfast was excellent. _Yet something else he does well,_ she thought, unsurprised. Both had uneasy nights despite their fatigue. Jane was dismayed at the murder attempt and new complications. Lisbon was thrown back to her horror and fear after the explosion at Malibu, when Jane actually was caught up in an explosion.

Sipping her second cup of coffee, Lisbon decided to acknowledge the elephant in the room. "So now what?"

"Let's assume it was Blake, a Red John friend, or a Visualize member–"

"Yeah, ignore the other half of the California criminal and law enforcement population. They might welcome your death, but probably wouldn't plant a bomb."

He frowned at her snarky comment. "Agreed, though I'd phrase it differently. Start with Blake."

"Does anyone stand out who would have a special vendetta against you? Oh! Here, take a look." Lisbon slipped her copy of the decrypted BA list from her briefcase.

"I see Grace came through again. Y'know, she deserves a raise," Jane muttered idly as he skimmed the list. "Because I fingered him as Red John at that press conference, Bertram has the strongest reason to target me. But, he's still on the run, right?" She nodded. "Then he has bigger problems to worry about. No one else stands out."

"Blake has to be investigated, regardless. Abbott is probably good for that. So, a friend of Red John because we killed Haffner? A Visualize member who blames you for Stiles's death in Malibu? They're gonna be a lot harder."

"Where are you with other cases? Is the team available to start going through Haffner's affairs? Haffner eluded us so long, I assume it'll be hell trying to ID his followers. _All_ his followers."

"I've been busy babysitting Abbott and the AG's aide who's overseeing the CBI. But I think the gang just about has the current case wrapped up. I'll have them start on Haffner."

Jane shook his head, unhappy at the enormous amount of work and time that would entail. "I'll try to think of a shortcut. Absent Bret Stiles, nothing springs to mind."

Lisbon looked at Jane, fleeting expressions of guilt and sadness unexpectedly crossing her face at his mention of Stiles. _Lisbon's not sad for Stiles, so it must be me. Guilt? Because she's not telling me something, something she doesn't want to tell me._ A moment's reflection told him the DNA analysis was the most likely reason. And her reaction strongly suggested the result. Jane set it aside, deciding to wait till evening to broach it with her.

"No sign Stiles is alive," she commented. "Speaking of whom, any suggestions on Visualize?"

"The obvious. Talk to Jason Cooper. See if he'll tell you whether any Visualize member's been...active. The other idea is to somehow let Visualize know that I – we – had nothing to do with setting the Malibu explosion. They may have a legitimate beef with someone, but we didn't kill Stiles. Cooper could help. But will he?"

"We'll all get started. What will you do today?"

"Being an involuntary house guest, I thought I'd alternate between sorting through my past and coming up with ideas about ID'ing whomever set the bomb."

"Okay. I'll call during the day and make sure you're okay–" Jane's raised eyebrows and half-smile triggered an angry reaction, "Damn it, do _not_ make light of this, Jane. Someone tried to kill you yesterday, remember?"

He looked away and muttered, "Yeah, I guess."

"Here," she said, getting out a gun hidden in a decorative box on her bookcase shelf. "Keep this with you, too." He frowned but accepted the weapon without comment.

Just then Cho rang the doorbell. He dropped off a bag of clothing and hiking boots from Jane's apartment. Jane reminded them they needed to "sell" the fiction that he had died in the explosion. Cho became a fraction more grim than usual. Lisbon immediately teared up and looked grief stricken. She'd ride to work with Cho as, realistically, would he expected if Jane had been killed.

Jane ducked lower to look her in the face. "What?"

"Thinking of Malibu to fake it."

"Oh."

Lisbon and Cho left, leaving Jane with his thoughts.

**Abbott**

Abbott arrived early. The investigation to nail whoever the hell killed Jane was in motion yesterday, before the ashes were cold. He had failed to keep Jane alive. That was a professional affront. Jane might have been damned useful to his BA investigation, might have been a witness too. And Abbott also had failed to keep a promise. He would apologize to Lisbon later. He _hated_ apologies. Not that his apology would undo the loss.

Abbott paid Lisbon the courtesy of coming to the CBI building. In character, he brusquely got to the point.

"Agent Lisbon, I sincerely apologize that my security detail did not adequately protect Patrick Jane. Although we haven't positively identified any remains, we can only assume he was killed. Please accept my condolences."

Lisbon looked steadily at him, eyes glittering with unshed tears, face bare of make-up, pale and a bit puffy. "I accept your apology, Dennis," she said softly. "Jane's been targeted for years by Red John and others. Tell me you're going to do something about it."

Abbott's relief at turning to the investigation was palpable. "My agents secured the site and FBI forensics is going over the area with a fine sieve. I have agents cross checking every known Blake member within 200 miles for alibis. All staff and guests will be interviewed by the end of today to see if anyone saw anything. One staff member appears to have disappeared, and we're looking into that."

"You'll let me know if you get any leads?"

"Yes. Now, I realize it's a tough time for your team, but you know who might have targeted Jane better than anyone. Can you brief me on your investigation?"

"The other likely threats are Red John friends and possibly Visualize members. We'll be looking into both."

"How about a lone wolf, a disgruntled perp Jane helped put away?"

She shrugged. "We're starting with Red John followers and Visualize. We'll look into the rest as time permits. Jane worked a lot of cases. There're a lot of p.o.'d individuals but no one stands out."

"And you'll let me know if–"

"Yeah."

Abbott gave her a long, searching look. Lisbon had already shown him she was tough as nails but even so, he thought she seemed a little too composed. Glancing around the bullpen on his way out he noted that her team was grim and working hard. He dismissed his earlier feeling. He again swore to himself about the rotten break. The resort wasn't a safe house but even he had thought it was reasonably safe for Jane. He didn't like the consequences of guessing wrong.

**Jane**

Jane sank onto the couch, putting his tea on the side table. He returned to his reflections about his past and recent events. Last week he decided he had to start from his beginning. Sean Barlow's allegations undermined much of what he thought he knew about his family and himself.

Alex Jane and Mary O'Sullivan met in 1972 when several carnivals participated in a regional fair. Alex was 20, Mary just 16. They were from different carnivals, but both were from long-time carny families. They were married before the summer's end and their son Patrick was born eight months later in the Carson Springs layover trailer park. Alex continued his psychic show. Mary became his MC, giving up the aerial show she had done with her family.

The families of Sean Barlow, Pete Turner and Alex went back generations, all traveling with the same carnival. He couldn't remember a time when Pete and Sean weren't part of his life. Sean was the oldest by about five years. Alex and Pete were about the same age. Sean led, Alex followed. Pete was somehow off to the side. Unlike the other two, Pete had no interest in the con or the show biz side of the carnival. Pete had a respect for the unforgiving, honest work of the mechanical underpinnings of carnival rides and infrastructure. In fact, Jane realized that Pete's respect for physical reality was probably why he liked and trusted Pete. Unlike people, a hunk of metal couldn't be conned. Either the work was done correctly – no corners cut – or it was unsafe and people got hurt. And Pete was good at his work.

If Barlow was to be believed, Bartholomew Stafford - Bret Stiles - was also with the carnival during the late '60's and early '70's. Stiles was a bit older than Sean Barlow. With his upper crust family, education, and intelligence background, it would make sense for Stiles to have dominated the group. Jane snorted softly to himself. _Stiles would have run circles around them all, even Sean._ He sighed. _And what of Mary O'Sullivan Jane?_

If – _if_ he believed Sean and if his guess about Lisbon's earlier reaction was correct, Stiles could be his father. There was no question he took after his mother in every way – looks, personality, intelligence. His mother was fair with blue-green eyes and blond, curly hair. Alex had dark hair and eyes. Jane had wondered about that until he learned enough about genetics to understand that hair and eye color were controlled by multiple genes. A boy with blond curls and blue-green eyes could indeed be the son of a man with dark hair and eyes. Of course, he could also be the son of a man whose hair was red and eyes were blue...like Stiles.

Jane remembered his father as fun and loving when he was young. He also recalled loud arguments between his parents about Alex cutting corners, playing the con a bit too coldly and cruelly. Then his mother got sick with leukemia when he was ten. She died. Everything changed. Being a husband and father had been a package deal for Alex. Her death made Alex hard, redirected all his energy into making money, maybe because Alex was never sure the charity care Mary received was all that could be done to cure her. Her death also erased any interest Alex had in his son. Jane did everything he could to please his father, to regain his father's love and approval. Only his skill at reading people, making money in the show garnered that approval. Alex rebuilt the show around his son and Patrick Jane became the "Boy Wonder" at 11. Brilliance and good looks combined to produce a very lucrative show.

Pete and his wife of seven years Samantha helped fill the void left after his mother's death. Pete violated carny customs by interfering when Alex got too harsh, too cruel with his son. Although Alex wasn't above shoving his son around, his main weapon was words, wielded with devastating skill and cruelty as needed. After all, a con was all about manipulation, about getting people to do what you wanted. His son was one more useful mark.

So the question is when Alex might have figured it out? Was it all because of Mary's death? Or, did he somehow find out another way around the same time? Unbidden, Jane remembered falling on broken glass and severing an artery just before his mother got sick. He lost so much blood he needed a transfusion. They stubbornly resisted a transfusion for their son out of a toxic mix of suspicion and ignorance. They finally relented when the doctor suggested that they could provide the blood. With her O- blood type, only Mary could be a donor for her son. Alex's A- blood type was incompatible with their son's B-.

Jane's breath caught as he realized the significance. He had _heard _the information at the time but lacked the education to understand the implications. It was impossible for Alex to be his biological father. Somehow Mary had conceived with another man just before she and Alex married. Jane swallowed, throat suddenly dry. That fact couldn't erase years of arguing and exploitation by Alex. But just maybe there was another side to the story.

Mercifully his cell phone interruped his painful musings.

**Lisbon  
**

The day was a trial. A constant stream of awkward condolences made her feel both guilty for misleading the well-intentioned, and anxious because the threat to Jane was real and continuing. The day was finally coming to a close.

An envelope was hand-delivered by a city messenger service. Curious, she opened the expensive rag stock envelope and read, "'The eye is not just the window to the soul. It is the key to unlocking your greatness. It is the key, because when you see it, you will be it.' Please meet me at the northeast corner of River Plaza Park at 5 p.m. It will be worth your while. Be discrete."

Lisbon leaned into the bullpen. "Everyone, in my office." She closed the door and handed the card to Cho. Cho held it so all three could see.

"What do you make of it?"

"If he weren't dead, I'd say it's Bret Stiles." Van Pelt and Rigsby agreed.

"Let's all talk about this." Lisbon put in a call to Jane. She knew her office was secure, having checked for bugs when she came in that morning. She had developed that habit after the Red John diskette declaring open warfare.

After beating back Jane's notion he should somehow go, they all agreed Lisbon should meet with – they presumed – Stiles. Lisbon would carry her phone in her pocket, open so Jane could hear. They agreed on the information they most wanted from Stiles.

**Stiles**

He was seated on the park bench, dark glasses only minimally disguising his appearance. Lisbon reflected again that the fact that everyone thought he was dead was better than the best disguise. She sat next to him.

"Agent Lisbon. Thank you for accepting my invitation."

"Mr. Stiles. You look well...for a dead man." He was thinner than she remembered, skin sallow, more frail. She could believe he was unwell, though he seemed far from imminently terminal.

"Ah, yes, there was a little subterfuge involved. You know how very _useful_ it is to be off the radar."

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Hmm. So direct, you law-enforcement agents. Refreshing, really. First, I want to offer my condolences." He looked closely at her then, just perceptibly, did a double-take.

_Damn,_ she thought. _He's almost as good as Jane. Can't afford to underestimate him._

Continuing smoothly, "And I have a bit of practical help to offer, too." He sighed and looked away. "You see, in building a world-wide following, compromises are inevitably necessary. You might say that once you catch a tyger by the tail, it can be hard to let go," he said with apparent regret.

"Tiger with a 'y'?"

"Just so," he beamed. "I see why Patrick was so fond of you. Anyway, I heard about the unfortunate demise of Mr. Haffner. Tragic. But now that leaves me with a dilemma."

"Which is?"

"Quite contrary to my wishes, Mr. Haffner had developed his own...following. Unpleasant sorts, really."

"I bet," she muttered, not intending him to hear.

"Yes. I can help eliminate any trouble that his followers might cause in our fair state."

"Why would you do that, Mr. Stiles?"

Rather wistfully, "One doesn't welcome the depredations of blood thirsty barbarians when those actions threaten your lifetime's work."

"And is there some...favor you would want in return?"

"Oh, no, my dear. Your appreciation of my civic-mindedness would be more than enough."

They both sat in silence for a moment.

"How many followers are there?"

"Let's not get into the boring details. A few dozen perhaps."

"You realize that law enforcement is obliged to investigate any unexplained deaths?"

"Of course. But having special insight into the matter would provide a useful perspective."

"I really would appreciate knowing who set the explosion that killed Jane at that resort."

"Now how would I know that? I certainly hope you succeed in finding him."

She continued after a pause. "Umm, you've heard about the Blake Association?"

"Dreadful. Thoroughly despicable corruption in law enforcement. I understand the FBI is hard at work apprehending members of that sordid network."

_So Jane's right. Blake and Visualize are enemies. _"Yes it is. Come to think of it, I do have a favor to ask."

Smiling, "And that is?"

"Some Visualize members might blame my team for your reported death in Malibu. It would be a relief not to worry about any rash actions."

"I'll see what I can do. Now I have a favor to ask in return." She swallowed, wary. "Please give my regards to our mutual brilliant, irritating friend. He always was a favorite of mine."

Lisbon closed her eyes, smiling in spite of herself. "Mr. Stiles, it's been a pleasure."

"Good day, Agent Lisbon." He shook her hand and walked to the limousine which had suddenly appeared nearby.

**Jane and Lisbon**

Lisbon closed and locked the door. Jane appeared silently behind her and gave her a hug. She returned it, a bit disappointed that it ended with that. She went around closing drapes before she could turn on lights. Finally done, Jane handed her coffee and sat down on the couch with tea.

"Lisbon, great job with Stiles!"

"But he knows you're alive."

"Meh. Hardly matters. Stiles will eliminate the Red John followers and muzzle any Visualize zealots. That's great."

"Abbott stopped by to offer condolences." She whapped Jane on his good arm as he snorted in derision at that. "Hey! He seemed sincere. Have some respect. Anyhow, he's taking care of the Blake members."

"So, all we have left is the person – probably Red John follower – who actually set the bomb."

"Any ideas on that?"

"Not yet. Or rather, let Stiles take care of the Red John types. Then maybe I could come back to life and see who takes the bait."

"Damn it, Jane. Do you have a death wish or what? Why is your first thought putting yourself in danger and giving me a heart attack?"

"No heart attack required, Lisbon. If someone is out there, better to lure him out on our terms than be a sitting duck until he chooses to strike."

She shook her head, fatigue making her unwilling to discuss it further.

"Enough for now. Let's have dinner."

"I took the liberty of ordering Thai. Should be delivered in 15 minutes or so."

~.~.~.~

Dinner and a break from shop talk relaxed them. done cleaning up after the meal, they finished off a pleasant, inexpensive bottle of wine as they sat on the couch.

"How did it go today," she asked.

"Worked through some stuff." He drank a third of the wine in his glass. "I think Barlow was telling the truth about Alex and me."

Lisbon waited silently for him to continue, or not. There was no way she could say anything about the subject. She had no idea of how to broach the DNA analysis that still weighed on her.

Jane continued, "I realized Alex could not be my biological father because of our blood types. I remembered needing a transfusion when I was nine. Only my mother could be a donor. Alex's blood type is incompatible with mine. Haven't thought about that in decades. It's only obvious now that I understand the genetics of blood types."

She took his hand. "How do you feel?"

He shrugged and drank more wine. "Strangely, that makes it better. You know I have issues with Alex, right?"

"Samantha told me a little, yes."

He shrugged diffidently. "Alex changed so much after my mother's death. I never understood how or why. Well, I think he found out sometime around then about me. It takes some of the sting out of it, out of how he changed."

"I'm glad," she said softly.

After another pause, "I figured out about the DNA analysis, Lisbon. No need to worry, though I would like to see the report." She jerked in surprise at his statement. Then she silently retrieved it and gave it to him.

He huffed and shook his head. "Stiles, huh? I'm not sure which is worse."

"You're not responsible for Alex or Stiles, Jane. You turned out to be a fine person despite them."

He smiled crookedly. "I'll take every vote of confidence I can get, Lisbon."

"Do you think Stiles knows?"

"He suspects, at least. And it explains some of the oddly personal comments Stiles has made to me." He sighed and shrugged again. "Stiles looked sick, right?" She nodded. "It'll soon be moot anyhow. Time to move on."

Careful of his left arm, she hugged him, arm draped across his shoulders. "Hey. I'm glad you figured some things out. Especially if it gives you some peace of mind."


	5. Chapter 5 - Peace of Mind?

**Chapter 5: Peace of Mind?**

**Lisbon and Abbott**

People started turning up dead.

It was an epidemic of accidental falls, auto collisions, sudden medical problems. Almost all the departed had childhoods of abuse and neglect. Surprising numbers happened to be sex offenders, criminals convicted of violent crimes, or defendants in domestic abuse cases. Many were connected to Visualize or the Blake Association. Lisbon had a pretty good idea about the source of the epidemic. She had to figure out what to do about it.

The AG's aide was already hyperventilating and leaning on her about what was going on and how the CBI should respond. As for what was going on, Lisbon wasn't about to share the insights provided by Mr. Stiles. As for what to do about it, the gross under-staffing limited the CBI's options. Not only had the CBI suffered staff cut-backs from years of state budget problems. But also the FBI's BA clean-up had instantly sidelined ten percent of the CBI detectives who were suspected of being corrupt. No positions would be filled while the investigation continued and the director position remained open. The CBI already was falling behind in investigating and closing "normal" serious crimes.

Lisbon personally was hard put to keep up with work that ordinarily would fall to the director. Fortunately, Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt steadfastly solved the cases assigned to her team despite the lack of help from either her or Jane.

At the knock at her office door, Lisbon assumed it was one of her staff and motioned the person to come in without looking up.

"Good morning, Lisbon," Abbott said pleasantly.

She straightened in surprise, putting down her pen. "Good morning. Did we have a meeting scheduled?" she blinked, trying to remember.

"No. If you have a moment, I'd like to talk."

"Shoot."

"It's been a week since the explosion. I have the preliminary report from FBI forensics. They tested 20 samples of tissue from the blast."

She looked at him patiently.

"No DNA from Patrick Jane in any of those samples. They all appear to be from the missing resort employee. . . .Now what do you make of that?" After a moment he continued his monologue. "In my experience, this suggests Jane's under cover while you set a trap for who tried to kill him. Am I right?"

Lisbon got up. "Dennis, will you please walk with me? It's complicated. And it needs to be off the record."

"This is getting to be a habit, Agent," he said, holding the door for her. "I'm not sure it's a good one."

They went for a walk outside the building.

"Abbott, you're correct." Startling both of them, she impulsively put her hand on his arm. To her surprise, he gradually was earning her respect and even affection. "Jane hid in my SUV after the explosion. I figured he was safest if everyone thought he was dead." She thought to add, "No disrespect to the FBI."

Abbott grimaced, then allowed, "Well, after we failed to keep him safe once, I can see why you might go that route. Now level with me on your investigation."

Carefully, "I have good reason to believe the explosion was set by a friend of Red John. But there are complications."

"_Why_ am I not surprised? You have a complex little universe here in California, Lisbon."

"The complications extend further than just the attempt on Jane's life."

"Meaning?"

"I believe – my team believes – Red John was connected to Visualize. Haffner was close to Stiles, perhaps a protege. He probably had something on Stiles. That's why Stiles tolerated the gory murders even though those murders posed a threat to Visualize. If Red John's connection to Visualize ever became public, politicians would cut loose, it might lose official recognition as a religion, and the public relations would be a nightmare. Haffner also had his own following, his Red John friends. There was a schism about a decade ago. Some former Red John friends became Blake Association, which threatened both Red John and Visualize. The poet William Blake embodied Red John's philosophy, what he sold to his followers. But the Blake Association also kept that connection with the poet. That's where the name came from and the 'tyger, tyger' code. That's why it was confusing for so long."

"Interesting theory. What's it have to do with anything?"

"Have you noticed the recent outbreak of accidental deaths?"

He frowned. "As a matter of fact, I wanted to ask you about that."

"Visualize is going after the Red John friends, eliminating that threat. Visualize is content to let you clean up Blake."

"So?"

"There won't be many Red John friends alive after the next week or two. After that, my team will let it be known Jane survived and set a trap for anyone who comes after him."

"Are you turning a blind eye to _murders_ committed by Visualize?"

"No. they need to be investigated and prosecuted. I have no ability to prevent them. It would take months or years to identify the Red John friends. It will all be over by then."

"If Visualize is arranging murders, that makes it FBI business – part of my investigation into Visualize."

"I was hoping you'd see it that way. Also, in practical terms, the CBI is too understaffed to even attempt to go after Visualize."

"So you're handing me these Visualize murders as well as Blake?"

"Yes. I don't see an alternative. Either that, or it waits for months till a new CBI director is hired and up to speed. And, until agents are hired into all the vacancies. I_ do_ want you to let me investigate the explosion aimed at Jane because it probably is not Blake."

Abbott drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You keep making me offers I can't refuse. However, it makes sense. I have a question for you, first."

"Okay."

"What promises have you made to Visualize – or anyone else in return for this information?"

"None. I am beholden to no one."

He tipped his head. "I'm impressed." He gave her a hard, uncompromising look. "Know that I'll follow the evidence wherever it leads. No one is off limits. And I won't keep embarrassing - or incriminating - secrets."

"Abbott, you have no idea the amount of crap and interference I've had from Bertram over the years. I _want_ the CBI back on the straight and narrow. I _want_ Blake and Visualize put out of business."

"You'll have the explosion file today along with an official request to transfer the case. I want a list of any recent deaths you think might be connected to Visualize or Blake."

"Today. Thank you."

Abbott started to walk toward his car, then turned. "By the way, I'll also tell that AG aide the FBI's looking into all those suspicious deaths. I'm sure you won't mind getting that nervous nellie off your back."

She smiled. "I owe you dinner, Dennis."

**Jane**

Jane chafed at the need to stay hidden, stay indoors. He agreed with Lisbon's arrangement with Abbott. He was able to offer a few insights into the team's current cases by reviewing the files and talking with them by phone. He was mainly impatient to take the next step in luring out his would-be murderer. He passed the rest of the week by reading and by working through more of his past.

Jane's life changed for the worse after the death of his mother at age ten. He worked hard and became "The Boy Wonder," but that didn't change Alex back into a loving father. Things got worse from there. When Patrick Jane was 12, Alex had a falling out with Sean Barlow. Barlow went so far as to swear vengeance. That had two effects. First, Alex replaced the income lost from Sean's schemes by inventing a healing con – selling a fake healing crystal to the desperate and dying. Jane was forced to help under threat of being kicked out of the show, the carnival, to fend for himself. Second, he had to sneak around to spend time with his long-time friend Jimmy Barlow. Both ended badly.

Jane allowed himself to relive the night Jimmy jacked his dad's car.

The carnival had just set up and would open the next day. It was late, pitch black with clouds. Jimmy suggested a joy ride in his dad's convertible. Jane argued it was a bad idea. He had no desire to experience Sean Barlow's icy wrath. When Jimmy went ahead anyway, Jane refused to even get in and took a walk away from the carnival. Jimmy followed closely in the car, trying to persuade him to get in, have a good time, maybe score some beer in town. Inexperienced at 14, Jimmy stalled the car on the train tracks amid miles of corn fields. He tried long minutes to start the car, terrified of what his dad would do if he didn't return it undamaged before it was missed.

The locomotive's light was far away, the whistle sounding warning blasts before reaching the uncontrolled railroad crossing. Jane frantically urged Jimmy to get out and get away. The slow-moving, massive freight train was a scant 200 feet away before Jimmy bolted from the car and ran. The rumbling and rattling drowned out their words. To Jane's horror, Jimmy ran away from the train. He kept running despite Jane screaming for him to run with him, toward the train. The rumbling was topped by the now-close, ear-splitting train whistle and the scream of metal sliding on the tracks as the engineer hopelessly tried to brake before demolishing the car. Jane couldn't hear after the deafening crash. Relief that the train hadn't derailed turned to horror. The crumpled figure lay motionless amid the twisted car chassis, shredded sheet metal, seat cushion, bent wheels, shattered glass. Revulsion joined horror. Debris had crushed Jimmy's skull and shredded his back. The heavy smell of blood mixed with burnt metal and spilled gasoline. Jane helplessly heaved at the side of the road till nothing was left, then heaved some more. Police eventually arrived. They took Jane's statement. Then they took him back to the carnival. To Alex. To Sean. A few months later Jane left the carnival for good after Alex knocked him to the ground in an argument over conning the dying.

And Sean Barlow blamed him for Jimmy's death.

Jane believed Pete. He could believe Sean Barlow had sworn vengeance, and pursued it obsessively and ruthlessly for decades. Sean had said as much. An implacable and cunning man, Sean Barlow knew Jane would take the obvious path. Apparent even at 16, Barlow knew Jane's talent would take him far beyond the carny circuit. Jane _would _become a psychic, _would_ help police with the most heinous cases for the credibility and publicity. Barlow had no need to track or find Jane. He knew Jane's prominence would present him with perfect opportunities for revenge, complete with a built-in murder suspect. Little did Sean appreciate how much easier it would be once he met the man who would become Red John. . .

"Jane? Jane?"

He gradually became aware of sitting on Lisbon's couch in her townhouse. The drapes were now drawn and a few lights were on. His tea was long cold. They made and ate dinner, but he wasn't much for conversation that night.

His screams woke her. Hurrying to his bedroom, she shook him awake. Then she sat with him and held him and stroked his back. Eventually he understood it was _only_ a nightmare, a nightmare about an event long passed even though the reverberations echoed down the decades.

An hour later she left him on the couch with a book and tea and a blanket. She couldn't really blame him for not wanting to brave sleep. To sleep, perhaps to dream? He had enough dreaming that night.

**Lisbon**

She woke tired. Her night was nothing compared to Jane's, but that was scant comfort. She faced another day of filling in for the director. By now, almost a month since Bertram went on the lam she and the AG's aide had settled into a comfortable routine. He forwarded all the requests related to the CBI, both internal and external. She did everything needed to keep the CBI functioning, under the polite fiction of orders from the AG's office. While doing that job, she was frustrated to be shirking her role as team leader, wondering when Bret Stiles would finish killing off the Red John friends, and worrying about Jane's safety and sanity. They could take no steps to trap Jane's would-be killer till Stiles finished his Visualize house-cleaning. Meanwhile, Jane remained in danger. And he continued working through his past. She believed Jane when he said he _needed_ to go through his past to make sense of it so he could...eventually...put it to rest. But it wasn't an easy process to go through. Or watch.

The epidemic of murders waned after another week. Jane could finally come out of hiding.

**Tribute to Red John**

Hoping for surprise, teams Lisbon and SWAT cautiously open doors to the vacant factory.

Scrap metal stacked against the doors scatters loudly, alerting anyone inside. Grimy windows admit little light. Only the gory scene is lit, staged under the skylight. They invade, then freeze, frantically assessing the situation, searching for Jane.

Lurid smiley face 20 feet above, over a catwalk-

Woman's body awash with blood-

Red bleeding onto white cloth-

Man in a Halloween mask and black cape staggers into the light.

"GUN!" shouts Lisbon, just as the man fires a wild round and falls.

Gunfire shatters the silence then-

"Hold fire!" Cho shouts an instant later, catching sight of hiking boots.

The masked figure hits the catwalk floor then tumbles ten feet down metal stairs. He lies still at the bottom.

Rigsby reaches the figure first and pulls the mask off. "God no! Jane!"

**_Two Hours Earlier_**

Jane gave Lisbon a quick hug as she left. This morning she would email the CBI managers to let them know Jane's death was faked as part of an operation. That would be better than double-takes and one-by-one explanations at the CBI. Jane would follow later in the rental car Cho and Rigsby dropped off earlier.

His three-piece suit felt odd after a weeks of casual clothes while he was "dead." _Wonder who'll regret my resurrection? Potential for fun there_. Looking down, he decided the hiking boots were part of why it felt strange. Other than the athletic shoes in his CBI locker, the boots were the only other footwear he owned. _Explosion got my old leathers. Guess I'll have to buy new shoes. Lisbon will be thrilled. Unless I go with white grandpa shoes with velcro ties, like those loaners. Then she'd fire me, _he mused idly.

Jane pulled out of the apartment complex only to–

_Crash!_

The minor fender bender was more annoying than anything else. Jane opened his door. Shock at being tasered was matched by astonishment. He recognized the man's face.

The Red John disciple dragged Jane's unconscious body into the passenger seat of the Jeep and pulled away. It was a short drive to the vacant factory where he would pay tribute to Red John. The smiley face was already drawn and the woman's slain body staged. He used a realistic model of an adult woman from a medical supply house with a mannequin's head and brunette wig. His plan was _so_ much simpler once he realized he didn't _need _Teresa Lisbon's dead body. He only needed Jane to _believe_ it was her. He injected Jane with a sedative to prevent him from waking too soon.

_**One Hour Earlier**_

Driving back from a meeting, Lisbon's cell phone rang. The number was Jane's burner phone. _I just left, what could he need now? _ "Lisbon. What is it, Jane? Hello?"

Gunshot!

"Jane! Jane, are you all right? Jane!" She swallowed and called Van Pelt on her CBI cell. "Grace, locate Jane's phone, _now. _I got a call from his phone and heard a shot!"

Van Pelt clicked on the tracer icon and quickly got the location. "15176 Commercial Drive. Factories, warehouses. About 45 minutes away." Alerted by the worry in her voice, Rigsby and Cho crowded around her desk.

"All three of you. Meet me there. Assault protocol."

Lisbon made a U-turn, tires squealing at the speed. She used her cell while she drove and pressed speed dial for her home. _Shit. Not there. This is real! _Somewhere a tiny thought nagged in the back of her head. _Jane was too easy to locate. Why didn't the kidnapper toss his cell phone?_ It never surfaced through the alarm and adrenaline.

"I need a SWAT team to meet me at 15176 Commercial Drive...Abduction of my consultant. He's targeted by a serial killer...Coordinate when we get there...Not a hostage situation. Likely a murder if we can't get him out of it. Thanks." Lisbon drove as though Jane's life depended on it.

_**Thirty Minutes Earlier**_

After he injected the sedative, Red John's disciple dressed Jane in the mask and cape - garments Red John had personally worn when he killed the copycat film students. The earbuds and ipod would feed Lisbon's recorded exclamation into Jane's ears. They would also block other sounds. Jane had no chance of realizing police had arrived. He would be conscious enough to react to the noise, Lisbon's voice and the staged Red John murder. And Jane would be able to walk - a very important detail.

That would avenge Red John's death in a most appropriate, painful and prolonged fashion. After all Red John had done for him, it was the last, fitting service he could provide. The video feed would record it all remotely for his later viewing pleasure. He was aware that many of Red John's friends had been killed. He wasn't worried. He was the first disciple, the most loyal, and the smartest. After his revenge, he could vanish and carry on Red John's legacy later.

He injected the stimulant and hallucinogen. Jane would be conscious, though anything but alert.

_**Present**_

"SWAT team, check for the kidnapper, secure the premises. Van Pelt, call an ambulance. Cho, coordinate." Lisbon shouts as she runs and slides to kneel next to Jane.

Rigsby's already ripped the cape and earbuds away. He discovers the gun taped to Jane's right hand. Jane's left hand is tied to his waist. Rigsby undoes both, trying to preserve evidence, hoping the gun or adhesive might provide useable fingerprints.

_ Unconscious. Bullet wound, shoulder. Thank God, only one?!_ "Where the hell is that ambulance?" Lisbon demands savagely. She presses one hand over the bullet wound to try to stem the bleeding. She runs her other hand over his chest and stomach. No more blood, no other wounds.

"Dispatcher said five minutes," responds Van Pelt, running up with the medical kit. Lisbon gratefully takes a wad of gauze and presses it against the bullet wound, red instantly soaking the stark white. His breathing and pulse are strong and regular if very fast. She presses harder to staunch the blood. A thrill of relief seizes her. _Not too bad, not too bad_ she reassures herself.

It occurs to her they were still firing as he fell. She and Rigsby gently roll him onto his side to check his back. Her hand comes away sticky with more blood. "Damn it! More gauze!" Lisbon presses it against the bloody area and rolls him back over, hoping his body weight will reduce the bleeding. "Where–"

"Right here, Agent," answers a paramedic. He and his partner take over. The CBI team steps away. A few minutes later Jane's on a stretcher and they're ready to load him into the ambulance for the trip to the trauma center.

By then, the factory has been secured. Of course, there is no sign of the kidnapper.

"Cho, you're in charge. Rigsby, Van Pelt, work this scene, see if there's anything we can use. I'm going with Jane."


	6. Chapter 6 - Peace and Quiet

**Chapter 6: Peace and Quiet**

**Treatment**

Lisbon had the paramedics take Jane to Sacramento City Hospital. It was old and in a bad part of the city but, as a teaching hospital, it had the most skilled doctors available. She held Jane's hand, reassured him it would be okay even though he remained unconscious. She was no medical professional, but having seen countless gunshot victims – alive and, more often, dead – she was hopeful. They reached the hospital. Jane was quickly wheeled into the treatment area. Lisbon had no choice but to trust in the care of the medical staff for him.

Then Lisbon got to answer administrative questions. Jane's wallet had been destroyed in the explosion and being "dead" hindered getting new ID's. She sat down away from others, nursing a vile cup of vending machine coffee. Hospitals were always hurry up and wait, and Jane would require surgery to repair the gunshot wounds.

"Family for Patrick Jane," called a nurse.

"Here." Coffee slopped over as she parked the cup and followed the nurse. _It should be hours yet. This can't be good._ She was led into the treatment area.

"You're with Patrick Jane?" the doctor asked brusquely. "I'm Dr. Shaffer, the surgeon who will operate." The middle aged woman interjected, "I'm Dr. Annatto, the anesthesiologist." Shaffer continued, "Can you give us any information about his drug use?"

"He doesn't use drugs – I mean except for legal ones. The only prescription I'm aware of is sleeping pills."

Annatto frowned. Shaffer appeared more irritated. "What's his background? We did a tox screen and he's under the influence of an hallucinogen and a powerful stimulant, apparently to counteract a sedative. And there are drugs we can't even identify."

Lisbon willed herself to be patient with the obnoxious surgeon who would, after all, help Jane. "He's law enforcement. He was just rescued from a hostage situation. Any drugs were given to him involuntarily. I'm sorry but we have no information."

Annatto responded. "We'll work around that though it seriously limits the options for anesthesia during surgery and pain relief after. Thank you."

As they turned away Lisbon asked, "Can you tell how long he'll be in surgery? It's not life threatening, right?"

"Sorry, no. His injuries probably aren't life threatening."

~.~.~.~

The wait felt endless. Lisbon swung between fear and guilt. She worried Jane's injuries were more serious. She berated herself for not keeping a team member with him until the threat was over. Eventually, the thought she suppressed earlier surfaced. _He was too easy to find. I should have known it was a set‑up. This was intended to be execution by cop. Just the kind of elaborate, sick games Red John always played. Haffer's dead. So who?_

She killed some of the time by calling the AG's aide. She was able to deal with enough decisions by phone to keep him at bay for another day or two.

Her team periodically called as they worked the crime. There were myriad fingerprints at the scene. They would check out the manufacturer of the adult woman medical model. Lisbon would bet against turning up useful information based on the meticulously planned abduction and near execution. Her team was still working through evidence from Haffner, but they hadn't yet uncovered what they really needed – a list of Red John friends, disciples. Rigsby stopped at her apartment to determine how Jane had been abducted. Shattered safety glass and a bent piece of sheet metal led to the discovery that the car rented for Jane had been towed to a city pound to clear the street. Rigsby had forensics go over that, too. They had a mountain of evidence to go through and more coming from forensics. What they didn't have was a solid lead.

"Family for Patrick Jane." _Finally!_ Lisbon accompanied the nurse to the recovery room where the surgeon and anesthesiologist waited to talk with her. Her guess was correct: As gunshot wounds go, these did minimal damage. No organs were affected. The injury was limited to muscle tissue. He had a mild concussion from the fall, plus numerous cuts and bruises. They were least certain about the illicit drugs.

"He needs 24 hours to metabolize and eliminate the drugs he was given - 48 to be sure. Till then, it's too dangerous for anything other than antibiotics, saline solution and a topical anesthetic. He will unavoidably be in pain until then. He may not be coherent when he regains consciousness due to the hallucinogens."

"Can I see him, stay with him?"

"Yes. Don't be alarmed if his thinking and perceptions are distorted."

**Recovery**

Still unconscious, Jane was moved to a private room when his vital signs were stable and it was clear there was no unexpected bleeding.

Jane's pale skin was marred by raw cuts, swelling and dark bruises over face, chest, arms - any exposed skin. The hospital gown was slipped over his right arm. The left side was loosely draped over his arm and chest, giving nurses easy access to tend the bullet wounds in his left shoulder and his back, near his waist. _Damn, the scars from Red Jo– Haffner haven't even faded and he's hurt again. Will it ever end?_ The medical equipment attached to him was basic: IV for antibiotics and saline solution, wire leads for cardiac monitoring, breathing cannula, and Foley catheter. For once she was grateful for the soft beeping of the monitor, comforted by his steady if rapid heartbeat. She was all too aware the attack had come within a whisker of succeeding.

She brushed the curls from his forehead. Softly, "You're gonna be okay Jane. You'll be all right," not sure whether she was reassuring him or herself. The machines claimed the space to the right, so she sat down on the left, suddenly exhausted. She took his hand, careful not to move his arm and disturb the wounded shoulder. She leaned back and dozed until her team arrived.

Lisbon briefed them on Jane's condition. With his assailant at large, Jane remained in danger. One team member would guard him at all times. They still mistrusted the PD with so many having been corrupt. Lisbon would stand guard the first night since she would stay regardless until Jane was conscious, until she was convinced he would be all right. They would rotate after that which would further slow progress on the case. Van Pelt kissed Jane's left cheek and Rigsby squeezed his arm. Then they left. Cho hung back.

"Something you need, Cho?"

He held up the evidence bag with the two bullets that had wounded Jane. "You need to let go of the guilt – no matter who shot Jane."

"Cho, I'm not interested in–"

"Boss," he said softly, "Jane's gonna be all right. You're no more to blame for this than he is for his family's murder."

She dropped the pretense. Harshly, "Yeah, I feel guilty Cho. Not because some psycho went after Jane. But because I missed the clue. It was too easy to locate him. I should have known it was a set-up."

"And done _what_ differently?"

"_Something!_" she hissed furiously. "_Something."_

"Really? Hostage situation. Man dressed the way Jane described Red John when he murdered those film students. He doesn't drop the gun. What if it had been the perp? Then you'd regret one of the SWAT team or us being shot. _There was no way to know_."

She dropped her gaze and looked at Jane. He _would_ recover. Tiredly, "Go home, Cho. I know what you mean, it's just – just that his plan almost worked. And we – I – would have killed him." She turned away, unwilling to break down in front of him.

Breaking the tension, "When he wakes up, maybe Jane saw something. Wouldn't be the first time he did."

"Yeah."

"I'll be back in the morning for my shift." Cho squeezed her shoulder and left, the door quietly closing behind him.

~.~.~.~

Jane came to around 8 p.m. Lisbon woke to his groans and soft cries of pain. It soon got worse. Opening his eyes, his expression was wild. He shouted, "Lisbon," then repeated it softly in despair. She tried to comfort him, make him know she was there only for him to recoil in fear and – was it shame? At times he didn't recognize her at all, calling for Angela as often as he did her. His agitation increased the pain from his wounds, and the pain increased his anxiety. It took just 15 minutes before the nurses applied restraints to keep him from ripping open stitches and dislodging the IV and monitor leads. The restraints kept the stitches intact. But his terror increased, accompanied by cries of pain and mumbling about Red John, Angela, Charlotte and Sophie. The attending doctor finally ordered morphine added to his IV. Jane lapsed back into unconsciousness. An automatic blood pressure monitor was added as a safeguard. The doctors were working blind as to possible drug interactions. Finally, the room was still and the medical staff had left.

Shaken, Lisbon took her place by his side. _What the hell did that SOB psycho give him? My God, let him be all right. _ Emotion overwhelmed her. Tears sild down her cheeks and dripped on her blouse. In the quiet and stillness she gradually calmed down_. _She tentatively reached for his hand and whispered comforting phrases. This time she knew it was as much for herself as him. She accepted a cup of coffee brought in by a nurse, grateful for the traditional empathy between cops and medical workers. She dozed lightly, still alert to the slightest sound outside the room.

The morphine was tapered off toward morning. Pulse and blood pressure had returned to normal parameters. Jane woke again. Lisbon sat bolt upright at his low groan, eyes wide wondering what his condition would be this time. But he was now calm and oriented. He panted in short, shallow breaths from the pain until he gathered himself sufficiently for biofeedback. She could see him relax, begin to take in his surroundings.

"Jane, how do you feel?"

He caught her gaze, but flinched and looked away. He finally responded, voice scratchy, "Like crap. But I'll survive." She poured water and held the cup with a straw to his lips. He tried to hold it himself, but his right hand was immobilized by the IV and he gasped in pain when he tried to move his left arm.

"Easy. I'll hold it. Just drink."

"Hospital again? What, how–"

"Just rest. You've been shot–"

"I took a wild guess and figured," he said sourly.

"About the best it can be for gunshot wounds. You're gonna be fine."

"Wounds, plural? Now you're cheering me up with how favorable getting shot was?"

He was finished drinking. She set the cup aside and sat down, waiting for him to tell her when he wanted to talk. After a minute he was ready.

Calmly, "Okay, Lisbon. What happened?"

"Let's start with what you remember." Lisbon wanted his recollections, uncolored by the team's knowledge.

He closed his eyes, "I was leaving your place. There was a fender bender. When I got out I was tasered. And, and–" He stopped, fear plain in his eyes.

"What?" she prompted gently.

He whispered, "It was Kirkland. He tasered me." It was a minute before his breathing and the soft beeping of the cardiac monitor slowed to normal.

She carefully controlled her expression. _Bob Kirkland was killed by Reede Smith months ago. Spillover from Kirkland threatening to torture Jane?_ "What else do you remember?"

His face tensed in pain and confusion. He started shaking his head, breathing tight and shallow again, "It's not clear. Blood. Red John scene. It was–" He looked at her then looked away, eyes closed and lips pressed in a tight line.

She stroked his arm lightly. "Shhh. It's okay. You were abducted and drugged." After a moment, "Anything more?"

He shook his head again, "Nothing that makes any sense. I was – I heard something, Red John. I tried to defend you. Myself. Then pain, and – that's it." He drew a deep shuddering breath and let it out. She gave him time to recover.

"Do you want to know?"

He nodded mutely.

"You were kidnapped after the fender bender and taken to a vacant factory. Van Pelt located you through your burner phone. We stormed the factory with SWAT team assistance. You were," she swallowed before being able to continue. Jane looked at her sharply, frowning. "You were drugged and dressed like Red John. You had a gun taped to your hand. We – we –"

"You shot me thinking I was the perp?" he finished kindly for her.

She nodded, looking at the floor, face a study in pain and regret.

He moved to hold her, but was stopped by pain. "C'mere, Teresa. I'm going to be okay. It's okay."

"God, Jane," despair and horror in her voice. She hugged the uninjured side of his body, head resting on his right shoulder.

"Shhh." He managed to rub her back without dislodging the IV. After a few moments, "I take it my attacker is still at large?"

She nodded. "We don't have a lot to go on."

She managed to get him tea. He fell asleep again shortly after. Cho arrived at 8 a.m. and read while keeping watch.

~.~.~.~

Lisbon went home and showered and slept for a few hours. She went into the CBI in late afternoon, and put out whatever fires the AG's aide dumped on her. By 3 p.m. her team went over their progress on the case. Rigsby (who had relieved Cho) and Jane listened in by phone. They ended the call without making much progress.

Afterward, Lisbon had Van Pelt call Rigsby and then asked to speak with him in private outside the hospital room

"Cho, Rigsby, how has Jane been while you were with him?"

Cho frowned. "Injured, in pain, tired."

"How about his thinking?"

"There were a couple of times he seemed out of it, uh, disoriented."

"Rigs?"

"Pretty much the same thing."

"The doctors said he was given a lot of powerful drugs, including hallucinogens and stuff they couldn't even identify. Jane said he saw Kirkland–"

"Which is impossible," interjected Rigsby, who had seen the report on his death.

"I'm not sure whether it's an actual memory or from the drugs. Kirkland kidnapped Jane and was gonna torture him. That experience may be bleeding into this situation. On the other hand, I don't know how reliable Reede Smith was about killing Kirkland."

"Why would Smith lie?''

"Who knows. But unless one of us saw the body, I don't trust it. Smith is Blake. Not exactly an upstanding witness."

"So what do we do?"

"Check it out but don't spend a lot of time on it. Kirkland's fingerprints should still be on file somewhere. See if there are any matches to our crime scenes."

**Homecoming**

Jane was discharged the third day after the shooting. The three days were more a precaution because of the drugs than a requirement because of his wounds. He would stay with Lisbon while he continued to recover. As short-handed as they were, staying with Lisbon automatically provided protection during the evenings and nights. That left just the daytime hours to be covered by the team.

Lisbon continued handling much of the director's job while scrambling to make progress on cases assigned to them. One bright spot was La Rouche's investigation of the shooting. He quickly ruled the action justified and cleared all involved. Of the bullets that wounded Jane, one was fired by a SWAT team member. The other was fired by Lisbon.

Jane returned to the CBI the following Monday. Although not fully recovered, he successfully argued it would free up team time from guarding him to catching the attacker.

Jane carefully seated himself on his couch, still stiff and sore. Case up, he quickly fell in with the team and rode to the crime scene with Rigsby and Van Pelt. He quietly and thoroughly examined the scene and offered several useful ideas.

"Jane, come with me to interview the parents." Lisbon's gaze slid off to the side when she looked at Jane. "Rigsby and Cho, check out the neighbors. Van Pelt, I need as much about her finances as possible." Lisbon and Jane were nearly silent during the drive. She felt him studying her, but when she glanced at him he was looking out the car window.

It was late when they returned to the CBI. Lisbon sighed and tackled the paperwork to try to keep up with demands from the AG's office as well as her team's cases. Fortunately there was a lull in Jane-generated paperwork because of his absence for several weeks.

Jane was still a target. Rather than require protection by the team at his apartment, he opted to stay in the attic. He got tea and made his way to the attic for the first time in a month. Cho looked up at the faint, strangled outcry a few minutes later. Frowning, he took the stairs to the attic two at a time.

Jane had dropped the teacup and saucer and was standing stock still in the doorway. Cho stepped around Jane and stopped dead as well. The window was decorated with a Red John smiley face. Cho pulled his weapon and checked out the attic and rooftop outside the room.

"Clear."

Cho's statement brought Jane back to the present. He took a breath. "It's not Red John. Close but not quite the same."

"Makes sense since Red John's dead."

"Work of Red John's disciple."

Cho took him by the elbow. "C'mon, Jane. Let's go down and chew this over with the team."

Forensics would go over the attic space, but they expected nothing useful to come of it. They concluded the smiley face was probably put there before the last attack on Jane. Had the plan succeeded, Jane's CBI colleagues would be reminded that they killed Jane, that they had been able to do nothing to stop it. Its presence in the CBI building would amplify the impact, the dread and guilt and fear.

Unexpectedly, it was the break they needed.

the team split up scanning the CBI guard station videos of guests coming into the CBI over the past six weeks.  
Rigsby knew he'd found it when he spied Robert Kirkland signing in as a visitor.

"It all fits," Jane opined. "Lisbon, there never were any matches between our crime scenes and Robert Kirkland's fingerprints, right?"

"Right. So–"

"I _did_ see Kirkland when I was abducted. _Michael_ Kirkland, the identical twin."

"But there weren't any fingerprint matches," objected Van Pelt.

"Identical twins _don't_ have identical fingerprints. Forensics needs to check for prints that are very close, though."

"If any were even left," cautioned Cho.

"No matter. We now know who to look for. He must have gotten in pretending to be Bob Kirkland. After all, the CBI guards wouldn't know Bob Kirkland was already dead."

~.~.~.~

Some good luck finally balanced out the other kind. The APB turned up Michael Kirkland two days later, before he had time for plastic surgery, before he had time to flee. The video of Jane's near-execution provided absolute proof he had attacked Jane. Better still, Michael Kirkland had a list of the other Red John friends–a second piece of luck. By then, the list mainly served to verify that all other Red John friends were dead, presumably courtesy of Visualize. Abbott actually cracked a smile when Lisbon presented it to him.

They had gotten Red John. And all of Red John's friends were either dead or under arrest. Problems remained nonetheless.


	7. Chapter 7 - Peaceful

**Chapter 7: Peaceful**

**Cho**

The team was in the office. Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt were finishing up paperwork on the case they just closed. More fell to them since Lisbon unofficially continued doing the director's job, now two months after Bertram fled. The governor and AG were frozen in political stasis as the ever-expanding Blake Association case now extended to over a dozen states. Fortunately, with Jane back Lisbon's team kept up with their assigned cases, even though Lisbon could spend almost no time on them. In fact, she was working 60-to-80 hour weeks just to keep up with a job that wasn't hers. That was even more time than Bertram used to spend because of the extra steps she had to go through to maintain the fiction of the AG's office managing the CBI.

Cho was generally satisfied. A lot was going right, even though all the disruption from the BA hadn't yet settled down. Although the workload was heavy with Lisbon unavailable, Jane contributed more than one person's worth to any investigation. Cho was comfortable managing and certainly comfortable working with his teammates. He was personally pleased to see the end of Bertram, who he had neither liked nor trusted. And the CBI detectives sidelined by alleged BA corruption tended to be at the bottom of the barrel, anyhow. California law enforcement was doing some long overdue fumigating. Overall, things were pretty good. Except that something was off with the team, _his_ team.

Cho glanced up from the case file. He couldn't help but catch sight of Jane since the man's couch was in front of his desk. After ten years, the picture should have been as familiar and comfortable as an old pair of slippers. It wasn't. Looking over his colleague and friend, everything was "off." Jane's posture was stiff and he hadn't moved in over an hour. He held an open book but hadn't turned a page in ten minutes. As razor sharp and efficient as ever on cases, Jane was closed off, tightly wound, and _serious_ all other times. Jane hadn't been back to the attic since they had discovered the Red John smiley face, even though maintenance had scrubbed the attic of every trace. Even more inexplicable, Jane spent almost no time in Lisbon's office.

Jane set his book down to get tea. After a moment, Cho followed him to the break room. Reaching for the coffee, Cho accidently brushed Jane's arm. Startled, Jane nearly dropped his cup.

Cho sighed then plunged in. "How about talking about it, Jane?"

Emotion flickered over his face for a fraction of a second before Jane restored his pleasant, neutral mask. "Nothing to talk about, Cho." He finished preparing his tea and left.

Cho stood stirring his coffee, trying to clearly recall Jane's expression. He finally settled on fear. Fear and anxiety. _What the hell is he afraid of? Damn._

Jane left promptly at 5 p.m. He had rented an apartment several months before they finally got Red John. Lisbon continued hard at work in her office. Cho decided to relieve his frustrations in the gym. Ninety minutes later after exercise and a shower, he returned to find Lisbon still at work. Decision made, he got two cups of coffee and knocked on her door.

"C'mon in, Cho. What is it?"

Handing her a coffee, "We need to talk. Is this a good time?"

"Let me finish this form. Then I'm done for the night."

He waited patiently until she turned off her computer and leaned back. The long hours showed in lines of fatigue and shadows under her eyes. He couldn't tell much else, however.

"Okay. Good job on the Johnston case, by the way. Thank you for doing my job."

He grunted softly. "Why not? You're doing Bertram's – except for the corruption and BS parts."

"What's up, Cho?"

"You're the boss. Your team needs you to fix a problem."

"Which is?"

"Jane."

She frowned and sighed. "What's he done now? I do _not_ need any more crap to take care of along with all I get from the AG's office."

Cho took a moment. "How many complaints have you had about Jane recently?"

She straightened in surprise. "None. None I can recall. Has he been pulling his weight on the cases?"

"More than ever."

"Then?"

"Everything about him is 'off.' He's wound tight. Distracted. He won't talk to me."

"Maybe it's because we got Red John."

Cho looked levelly at her. "You said he was doing okay after Red John. This is all since he was kidnapped and shot."

Pain flashed across her face. Softly, "If so, I'm part of the problem. I _shot_ him for heaven's sake, Cho."

"Don't think so. Boss, lose the guilt. I don't think that's what's eating him."

"Do you have any idea?"

Reluctantly, "Seems like it's all he can do to hold himself together. He's afraid of something."

She propped her forehead in her hand. "Shit. I'm sorry, Cho. I haven't been paying attention because of all the work I'm doing for the AG."

"If you don't do it, the CBI would grind to a halt. You just need to untangle what's going on with Jane." He got up to leave.

"Cho–" she said. He turned back. "Thanks."

**Jane**

Jane locked the door to his apartment and tossed his suit jacket over the couch. He went to make tea and heat up left-overs. After cleaning up from dinner, he brought tea with him and sat down heavily on the couch. His apartment on the third floor of a hilltop building afforded a good view through the trees. He enjoyed the sunset and didn't bother to turn on a lamp as day faded into dusk and then night.

Time to work through the rest of it.

The families of Sean Barlow, Alex Jane and Pete Turner traveled with the same carnival for generations. Sometime in the mid-'60's, Bret Stiles joined the carnival as a psychic and mentalist. Bret and Sean hit it off. By the early '70's, Bret joined the Visualize cult and became leader after Timothy Farragut's car accident in 1976. Sean Barlow probably helped finance the explosive growth of Visualize from a Southern California group of a few hundred to millions over several decades. Somehow, the man who would become Red John, Raymond Haffner, joined Visualize and became acquainted with Sean Barlow.

Alex married Mary in '72. Patrick Jane arrived eight months later and enjoyed the love of both parents. Jane's mother died when he was ten and his world changed. Alex went from loving father to MC interested in how much money Patrick could make in the show. Alex learned that someone else was the father, the _biological_ father, around that time. Sean Barlow and Alex parted ways when Jane was 12. Then Alex came up with the healing crystal con. Alex forced Jane to help or be kicked out of the carnival. Jimmy Barlow got killed by a train crash when Jimmy was 14 and Jane was 16. Jane left the carnival at 16, no longer able to stomach ripping off the dying for his father. Unknown by Jane, Sean blamed him for Jimmy's death and swore vengeance.

Jane met Angela Ruskin. They married when he was 20 and she was 18. Their daughter Charlotte followed soon after. Jane's talent as a (fake) psychic and his ambition propelled him into affluence and celebrity. An absolutely ordinary and predictable part of that was offering the cops help with notorious murder cases for the credibility and publicity. Sean Barlow predicted it. Counted on it.

Patient and cunning and ruthless, Barlow was content to wait till Patrick Jane gained prominence as a psychic. He knew the psychic readings for the cops would be the perfect set up for his revenge. Jane would be killed by a murderer. Or, Barlow could have him killed in the style of the murderer. Barlow got more than he ever hoped when Jane made insulting comments about the Red John serial killer.

Sean Barlow knew Red John, an enforcer and protege for Bret Stiles. Red John had begun expressing his "philosophy" through gory killings a few years after joining the FBI. Sensing a delicious opportunity, Barlow made a point of telling Red John that Bret Stiles had sired Patrick Jane, that Jane was the true son of Bret Stiles. Red John was only too happy to make the arrogant young "psychic" pay when Jane made insulting comments about him. Barlow initially had intended for Jane himself to be killed. Barlow came to appreciate Red John's cruelty in killing the family, in leaving Jane alive to experience endless grief. Just like Barlow's grief for his son. Jane's guilt for causing their deaths was a bonus. Of course, Jane would eventually be killed anyhow. Barlow rewarded Red John by helping him identify potential followers. And Barlow carefully continued feeding Red John's jealous obsession over Jane being the "true" son of Stiles. Barlow had the satisfaction of a revenge that extended over a decade.

Drained of energy, Jane allowed his grief to wash over him. This time it was tempered just slightly. Of course, he had fulfilled his vow: Red John was now dead by his hand (and by the team). But he also realized he had long been targeted by Barlow. Death was stalking him and his family for years. He still regretted Red John's depraved decision to kill his family rather than him. But even if he had said nothing about Red John, the best outcome would have left him dead and his family bereaved. And there was _nothing_ he could have done differently that would have changed that. Jane even began to consider the thought that perhaps he was innocent as well as his family. Or, if not absolutely innocent, that he didn't deserve to be targeted for death because of an accident that wasn't his fault. It was the most comfort he had allowed himself in a decade.

Now, if he could just work out the other thing. . . He fell asleep on the couch. No one was around to rouse him from the nightmares. Or offer comfort when he finally dragged himself back to consciousness. It was a long night.

**Lisbon**

Lisbon arrived earlier than usual, called the AG's aide, and handled the things that absolutely could not wait. She then took charge on the new case assigned to them. She knew it would be hard to juggle work on the case with everything else, but she enjoyed the general happiness of her team at her involvement. Even Jane looked happier, although he wouldn't meet her gaze.

The case was standard investigation 101. Her experienced, capable team made short work of the steps needed. The case wasn't solved in one day, but plenty of evidence was being unearthed that would soon provide the clues they needed. And as she worked the case, Lisbon confirmed everything Cho said about Jane. Jane observed telling details, absorbed relevant information, and suggested helpful lines of investigation without drama or fuss. In that, he was acting completely out of character. Back in the office, he didn't relax on the couch even though it looked like he hadn't slept much. He sat stiffly and quietly, barely pretending to read the book he held. Lisbon almost wanted to shake him, ask where the real Jane had gone. A bit before quitting time, she made a point of going to the break room when Jane went for tea.

"Hey, Jane."

Glancing in surprise, "Lisbon."

"I've barely seen you for two weeks."

"You've been busy." His tone was polite and warm. But he avoided looking at her directly.

"I'm tired of giving my all to the AG's office till they – _eventually_ - get a new director. Come have takeout at my place tonight."

He stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Umm–"

She put her hand on his arm, "C'mon, Jane. It'll be fun. Thai and a good cheap bottle of wine."

That actually elicited a smile since they always argued over whether expensive wine was truly worth the cost. Fortunately, both had come to see merit in cheap but good, or, expensive but excellent. Lisbon took care of the cheap. Jane handled the expensive. He relaxed slightly. "Okay. When are you leaving?"

"Five. The paperwork can wait another day."

**Lisbon and Jane**

Dinner was good, despite being served from cardboard containers. They retired to the couch with glasses of cheap but good wine.

"So how is all the work for the AG's office going?"

"I'm basically doing the day-to-day job of the director."

"I know. What's your take on it?"

She sighed and considered her reply. "I'm not happy about the situation. Especially since the governor and AG are unwilling to do anything because the Blake investigation isn't finished yet."

"But?"

"But the AG's aide doesn't have a clue. Without my help, the basic work won't get done. Good people would get frustrated and leave and the CBI would be even more understaffed."

Jane looked at her sideways. "Hmm. You know, you and your team could probably get yourselves hired by Abbott."

"What?!"

"That's the rumor I hear. Even more, that's what I read when Abbott comes calling."

She snorted. "Having no desire to live in Austin, Texas, that's one more reason to keep the CBI functioning."

"So how long do you put up with doing the job without the authority or pay?"

She frowned and sipped her wine. "I didn't expect it to last this long. I'm not sure I have any other option."

He took a healthy sip of wine. "Lisbon, there are always options."

"Yeah, well, I'm not eager to see what political hack they eventually hire. There are some benefits to not having a Bertram screwing with the work. –I mean, even aside from his corruption."

"Could _you_ do the job?" he asked, voice carrying an edge to it.

She flushed and frowned. "Damn straight I could. I mean, I'd have things to learn, sure. But Bertram didn't set a particularly high standard to meet," she replied heatedly.

He made calming motions with his hands. "Don't get offended. I happen to agree with you. You're capable. Your team has a stellar record. And you're more politically savvy now. Even those poker games with the muck-a-mucks helped."

She could detect no hint of sarcasm or mocking. She relaxed, warmed by his compliments. "Yeah, well, hell will freeze over before I'm offered that position."

"Unless you go after it. In fact, you're in an excellent position to engineer an offer."

She looked at him in surprise. "You're serious."

"'Damn straight you could,'" he smiled, mockingly.

"Hmm. Let me sleep on that idea," she said thoughtfully.

They sat quietly, relaxed from the dinner and wine.

"Jane, you didn't sleep much last night. What's going on?"

He swallowed a healthy gulp of wine. "Nothing much. Just worked through more stuff."

"And?"

"And it's time to move on. At least from that."

She looked searchingly at his face. "Something else is going on. Something important. Tell me."

He swallowed and looked away. He glanced at her then, uncharacteristically, his gaze slid away. "Umm, I don't think so."

Her breath caught, then she mustered the courage. "Jane, is it because of the kidnapping? Because I shot you?"

He huffed in surprise. Eyes wide, "No. That was an accident. You had no way to know."

"I missed a clue," she said barely above a whisper. "It was too easy to find you. I should have known it was a set-up."

He stiffened. Distressed, "Lisbon, you are not responsible. It could have been Michael Kirkland and he would have shot some of you."

She searched his face. "You really feel that way?" He nodded. She relaxed against the couch. "That's what Cho said."

"Smart man. Lisbon, I refuse to let you feel guilty over that. It's over. I'm fine." She leaned over to kiss his cheek and was shocked when he shied away. She caught a glimpse of fear.

Urgently, "Jane, what's wrong?"

He looked away, breathing fast and shallow. He rubbed his legs in anxiety.

Gently, "C'mon, tell me."

He dropped his studied mask, letting her see his fear. "Lisbon, I've been - uncertain - since I woke up in the hospital."

She waited patiently. She finally asked, "Uncertain of what, Jane?"

He said hoarsely, "Reality. I've had flashbacks."

"I understand. That can happen with those drugs."

"But the worst is that I _remember_ you lying under the Red John symbol. Cut up. Dead." He continued under her questioning gaze. "I know it's not real, but I _remember_ it. I've tried getting it out of my head, but I can't. Lisbon, I'm–" He swallowed. "I'm afraid I'm losing it."

Hand on his arm, "Oh, God, Jane. No you're not."

Agitated, struggling for control, "When I was in the asylum, I couldn't separate past and present, reality from unreality. I kept re-living that night. Couldn't convince myself it was over." He shook his head in despair, "Oh, god."

She pulled him to her, hugged him, stroked his head and back. He shuddered, breathing heavily. "Jane . . . Jane." After a moment she could feel him relax somewhat, gradually calm down. "Jane, you were messed up with who knows what powerful drugs. Kirkland staged a Red John murder with a medical model and brown wig. You're remembering that scene. No one was killed, but the scene was real."

He drew back, surprised. "Yeah?"

"Jesus, you didn't know?"

He coughed, shaking his head. "No. First I was in the hospital and then here. I never saw the full file."

"Oh, Jane, I'm _so_ sorry. The doctor told us to avoid showing you the crime scene photos because that could trigger flashbacks, more hallucinations. And then when you were back we'd started other cases." She gave him a strong hug and got up. "Let me make you tea."

Jane rested his head in his hands, elbows propped on knees. The tension drained from him and he relaxed completely for the first time since the hospital. He gratefully took the tea and managed a shaky smile. "Thank you, Lisbon."

She sat down again, gazing at him soberly. "Jane, it always goes bad when we don't talk, aren't together. I'm sorry I was so busy it took two weeks to really _see_ you."

He sipped more tea, hand trembling only the slightest bit. "I've missed you, Teresa. I avoided you because I couldn't bear thinking about that Red John scene. I was ashamed. I thought I was sliding backward toward–toward-."

She kissed him to silence anything further on the painful subject. He kissed her back, comforting each other after the intense conversation. They settled against each other, comfortable and calm in the other's arms. His breathing deepened as he fell soundly asleep after the previous sleepless night.


	8. Chapter 8 - A Piece of the Action

**Chapter 8: A Piece of the Action**

**Lisbon**

Lisbon walked back into her CBI office from the morning's meeting with the AG's aide. She slammed an armful of files down on her desk, then walked past the bullpen to the break room. Coffee in hand, she paused to look, really _look,_ at her team. Hard at work, not even Jane was goofing off, though she was immensely relieved that he was acting normally since they talked a few weeks ago.

_Van Pelt's shoulders are hunched up to her ears. Rigsby is folded over his desk peering at his monitor. He isn't even glancing at Van Pelt. No signs of Rigs's stupid games to pass the down time. Probably because there is no 'down' time. Even Cho is looking ragged around the edges, no novel in sight. Not just impassive and serious, it's an actual frown now. And Jane. Jane could use more sleep. And he's fidgeting to ease the tension in his shoulders. Since when does he let anything show?_

Lisbon knew her own face was pale. Except shadows had taken up permanent residence under her eyes. Her jaw ached from unconsciously grinding her teeth. _This is crap. This is unfair. My team is bearing the brunt of this as much as I am. And the politicos are too chicken-shit scared to do anything. Nothing's gonna change unless I force the issue._ With that, she dumped the files on the little conference table and sat down to write the memo she needed to write, _wanted_ to write. It took her two hours to get it just right. Then she made a point of sharing a carry-in lunch with the team before re-reading it, making minor changes, and sending it.

By 5 p.m. she was ready to leave, even though she would have to work several hours at home. She walked up to Jane as he lay on his couch. Usually, nothing escaped Jane's notice. On rare occasions, he got so engrossed that the rest of the world ceased to exist for him. This was one of those times. After a moment, she gently nudged the couch to get his attention.

"Hmm? Oh. Lisbon."

"Time to leave, Jane." All the dust having settled from Blake, Red John, and Kirkland, they had started routinely riding to work together. Jane's apartment was farther from work than her townhouse, so he usually drove.

"Uh, give me ten minutes. I promised Cho I'd have this figured out for tomorrow. A few more things to cross check and then I'll have it."

"Okay." She dropped off a few files on Nardo's desk across the room and made a stop at the restroom to kill time. By the time she returned, Jane was up, stretching his arms and back to relieve the tension, but ready to go.

**Jane and Lisbon**

Jane speculatively glanced at Lisbon as he drove.

"Hey! Eyes on the road, Jane. Bad enough I'm riding in this thing."

"Yes, M'am."

"Now you're making me sound like your grandmother."

He gave her a crooked grin. "Something's changed. What did you do?"

After ten years, she wasted no energy being annoyed as he effortlessly read her moods. "I finally made my case to the AG."

"Why decide to act now?"

She huffed in irritation at the situation. "Because important things aren't getting done in the CBI. And because you – I mean all of you – are as over-worked as I am because of this."

"Ah!"

She frowned. "'Ah' what?"

"Ah, that's classic Lisbon. _You_ might put up with being worked to death. But you won't tolerate over-working your team. –At least not indefinitely."

She snorted in half-hearted denial. "Yeah, well, being over-worked sitting at a desk is one thing. Being over-worked in the field is dangerous. . . . And unfair." She threw him a glance, daring him to disagree. Instead he just grinned irritatingly.

"What did you say?"

She leaned back and sighed. "I made the logical case. There are lots of reasons this isn't good dragging on so long without leadership. The CBI is drifting. There's no planning. No budget for next year. Nothing underway to fill all the vacancies. Hell, performance reviews and raises can't even be done. I don't have the authority to read the confidential personnel files, and that AG's aide isn't competent to judge performance. I may not know much–" He frowned but let it pass. "–but I know you don't screw with people's pay. Of course promotions are impossible right now, no matter how deserved or needed..." She drifted off in thought.

"And?" he prompted.

She sighed. "That's just the 'put-out-the-fire' stuff. _I_ think fundamental changes are needed in the CBI."

"Such as?"

"Look how good Van Pelt is with computers and Rigs is with arson stuff. Cho knows about gangs, military, and drugs. Hey, and I have a consultant who's dynamite at figuring out the really wacko cases. Somehow, that talent should be recognized, rewarded, and made available to help the whole investigative branch. I imagine it's similar in other areas. Forensics for instance. Another thing is the training and support for new unit leaders. Or rather, _lack_ of it. It's sink or swim. Someone with _field_ experience should be going out on cases to check them out and help them improve. A Bertram or Wainwright didn't have the right background to do that. But it's needed."

"How about the political stuff?"

"The governor and AG are scared witless about Blake and Red John. And we had to pass Visualize along to the FBI to get anything done. I happen to think that was the best option anyhow. But it's not good when the CBI is _incapable_ of handling a major serial killer or corruption case. I pointed out they're political sitting ducks should another big case come up. Imagine the headlines!" She smiled, thinking of the heat her political masters would face. "'CBI unable to tackle serial killer because of under-staffing.' Or, 'Case will be investigated when agents are hired and trained . . . in about a year.' God!"

"This all seems pretty straightforward. Even for the politically inclined. Why do you think they're sitting on their hands?" he asked, turning into her parking lot.

"Blake isn't over. They're terrified of hiring someone who's tainted. Now that Abbott's extended the investigation to nearly 20 states, they're afraid _anyone_ could be dirty. It would come back to bite them in the ass."

"How long before the Blake investigation is done?"

"Abbott thinks it could go on another year or year-and-a-half."

He offered her a kiss before she got out. She kissed him and moved to get out. He stayed her with his hand. "You've made an excellent case for the need to act. There's just one more thing."

Eyebrows raised, "Yes?"

"The AG and governor do have an _excellent_ candidate they know is clean. You. All you have to do is remind them."

She settled back against the seat. "I can't do that."

He shrugged. "Maybe not directly. Start making noise about how you personally can't do the director's job indefinitely, and they'll be motivated to ask the question. And Abbott. And Minelli. And the AG's aide. And Ardiles. And those muck-a-mucks you play poker with. They'll all endorse you. You've got them, Lisbon."

"You're crazy, Jane. It won't be that easy."

"Think I'll buy you a down jacket."

She frowned. "Huh?"

"Hell is about to freeze over." He kissed her again. She kissed him back and fled, afraid to hope it might be a real possibility.

**Lisbon and the AG's Aide**

Two days later Lisbon met with the AG's aide. Somehow his broad smile and eager handshake made her more wary instead of putting her at ease. Once they were seated he began.

"Agent Lisbon. Thank you for meeting me here. The AG and governor's assistant both read your memo. They - everyone was quite impressed with your thoroughness. You make an extremely good case for filling the CBI director's position as soon as possible."

"Thank you. Does that mean they're prepared to take action?"

"Well, the AG and governor aren't prepared at this time to make a final decision. Of course, the executive search alone would take months. But everyone believes there is an obvious temporary solution that would work well. The AG is offering to make you Acting CBI Director with full pay and benefits for six months. That will give you the authority to address many of the problems you've identified. And, of course, it would be a feather in your cap to be able to put that on your resume."

Lisbon sat back in her chair for a moment, expression guarded. "What about promotions? At the very least, my Serious Crimes Unit should have a permanent head. Right now, my second in command has been doing the job without the pay, recognition or authority."

"Yes, you absolutely could promote someone to head your former unit."

"And other promotions within the CBI?"

"Well, we'd like to reserve as many of those choices to the permanent CBI director. So we prefer to limit it to your unit."

"And when the director position is filled on a permanent basis, what options will I have?"

"You've pointed out how many vacancies there are. There are several unit leader positions open right now, so you would certainly be able to continue at your current level."

She paused. "I would like to think this over. Is there a write-up available? I'd like to be sure I clearly understand the details."

"Uh, no, I don't have one prepared right now," he said uncertainly. Then he added with a smile, "I'll write it up and have it to you this afternoon."

"Thank you for your time. I'll look forward to your write-up later today."

"And _I_ look forward to your decision – by Friday?"

"Yes. Friday is fine."

"Oh, and here are some files that look like they require immediate attention."

"Thank you." Lisbon took the files and left.

Lisbon returned to her office. Even though it was just after noon, she told Cho she was taking personal time and left. She didn't have her car, having ridden in with Jane, who wasn't around anyhow at the moment. She took a taxi.

**Lisbon and Jane**

Lisbon let mindless television wash over her as she unwound on her couch. By 5:30 p.m. she was just beginning to think about dinner, or at least getting more coffee, when her doorbell rang. She shook her head in irritation, having a good idea who it might be. She _so_ wanted the rest of the world to leave her alone at the moment. After several minutes, she finally gave in and opened the door.

"Dinner delivery service, Lisbon," Jane said, entering with several take-out bags in hand.

"Jane," she muttered, "I'm really not much in the mood for company tonight. Maybe another time."

Ignoring her statement, Jane put the bags down on her foyer table. Catching her arm as she turned away, he drew her around and hugged her tightly. Stiff at first, she gradually melted into the hug even as she was trying to form a sentence to encourage him to leave.

"Geez, Jane, can't you take a hint?" But her protest was weak even to her own ears.

"Not when my favorite CBI agent is having a bad day and maybe I can help." She relaxed in his arms for a moment, enjoying the warmth and unique scent of shampoo and soap and Jane, and even flirting with the momentary thought of how much she more wanted...eventually, before she pushed away.

"You're gonna try to cheer me up," she said.

"No. I'm not going to 'try,' I'm definitely planning on accomplishing it," he said, taking the food into the kitchen.

"Oh, Jane. I'm so pissed you should just leave now before I take it out on you."

"First, food. Then we solve the world's problems. Or at least Lisbon's. C'mon." He put water on for tea and put her favorite flavored coffee in the brewing machine.

Jane had brought Italian food, all her favorites. She knew it was guesswork, but was glad he bothered and provided just a little pampering.

"How's the current case?"

"Coming along. Should be solved end of the week or early next." He skipped the detail that it involved far more work than usual because of the number of potential suspects. Lisbon didn't need something to feel guilty about at the moment.

She went over the meeting with the AG's aide while they ate. Jane said as little as possible, knowing the entire matter _had_ to be worked out by her and in a way she found acceptable.

"You've told me _what_ he offered. What's your take?"

"No way in hell. That's my take."

"Because?"

"It's nearly the same set-up. I am trying to set aside being pissed and work through it logically. But, _logically, _I don't see anything attractive in it. Or even anything that addresses the CBI's problems." He waited till she was ready to continue. "The job would be temporary. I could do performance reviews and promote Cho. Everything else would be the same. As 'acting' anything, I wouldn't have any credibility and six-months is too short to address major problems. Hell, the aide said I couldn't even fill the unit leader vacancies because the new '_permanent'_ director might want to make those decisions. Oh, I almost forgot. Once a permanent director is hired, I _might_ be able to get a unit leader position back." She stopped talking so she could attack her plate of pasta.

"So what's your next step?"

"I turn it down. There's nothing there."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And how do you change the situation to your advantage?"

She used the mouthful of food to give herself time to think. Finally, "You're the mentalist, Jane. What would you do?"

"Uh-uh. This _has_ to be yours, Lisbon. I'm confident you'll see several options if you give yourself a moment."

Lisbon sat back and sipped her coffee. She had vented her disappointment and outrage. She had satisfied herself that, regardless of her feelings, an acting director approach wouldn't address the CBI's problems. She then thought about how Jane would react if it were his problem. Taking a deep breath, "First, I have to remove the 'acting director' option from the table. I need to flatly refuse that offer. Second, I need to eliminate the status quo. I am _not_ willing to continue indefinitely because it's not good for the CBI, my team, or me. I'll tell them that. But I'll make it more of a real threat. Think it'll get back to them if I sound Abbott out about working for the FBI?"

"I'm sure it will."

She continued. "And I need to make it more attractive for them to offer me the position. On paper I might not look as good as some candidates who have held jobs at that level. I get them to make me director with a six month probationary period. I prove I can do the job by then."

"What if it doesn't go well?"

"Jane, I believe in merit. If I can't cut it, then I shouldn't be in the job. I'll go back to being a unit leader, if not at the CBI then somewhere else."

"Why will they go for it?"

"It solves their problems. They get the job done. They already know I'm not Blake, not dirty. And if I can't cut it, they can get rid of me without my making a fuss. What's not to love?"

Jane finally let himself smile. "Lisbon, if it weren't for that honesty flaw, you have the makings of a good con man – uh, woman. That's just the way I'd approach it."

"Jane, I've never heard more terrifying words in my life. You've ruined me."

He grinned, "Not yet, but I'm working on it." He easily caught the breadstick she threw at him.

"We're not talking about that."

"Yet." He started clearing the table from dinner. "There is one thing you haven't mentioned." She raised her eyebrows in a question. "Who. Who do you approach with your counter offer?"

Frowning, "We left it that I'd get back to the AG's aide. But I think I need to be dealing with the AG himself."

Another dazzling smile. "Yep. The aide doesn't have the authority to give you what you want. Definitely, the AG. And maybe copy the governor's office, too. Well reasoned, Lisbon."

After desultory shop talk, it was time for Jane to leave. A hug and some friendly kisses later, he opened the door to depart. Just before stepping outside, he said, "Told you I'd make you feel better."

"Go, already. And, Jane–" He looked back. "–thanks."


	9. Chapter 9 - A Piece of the Future

** ***Note: Chapter contains some mild mature content.*****

**Chapter 9: A Piece of the Future**

**CBI Reset**

Lisbon finished her first week as the new CBI director. Numerous colleagues congratulated her. She most valued the congratulations from people she respected: Minelli, Ardiles, Judge Manchester, even Abbott. She was more than a little surprised at the celebration spontaneously arranged by the investigative units. The good agents had craved honest, competent leadership for years even before Bertram was identified as a criminal and fled.

Her contract specified a six month probationary period with clear performance requirements. Accorded the full authority of the position, she decided to seize the opportunity to implement the changes needed to solve several long-standing problems. Lisbon would personally accompany each new unit leader on one case each quarter to provide coaching and help as needed. The CBI also would develop a program to recognize, reward, and make available specialized talent within the bureau. Agents with specialized expertise would be available for short periods to consult with other units. Unit leaders would be free to accept or refuse the specialized help. In turn, the specialists would be free to turn down requests for their services. The unit leaders would earn recognition and small financial rewards for improving the close and conviction rates for their cases. The specialists would earn small financial rewards every time their assistance was requested. Each side had something to gain and something to lose. Van Pelt, Rigsby and Jane would be part of that new program. And Kimball Cho was promoted to Lisbon's former position.

**Jane and Lisbon Reset**

Jane worked late on the case to get Cho something he promised. That was convenient since Lisbon needed to stay late for a meeting with the AG. They had continued to car-pool.

"I'm starving. Can we please stop and eat, Lisbon?"

"Yeah, past time, but I'm too muddy for a restaurant. A taxi splashed dirty water all over me after it rained."

"Drive-up, then?"

Lisbon groaned, "Eat in the car? Another missed opportunity to actually enjoy the meal."

"How about take-out and we eat at my place? It's close."

"I'd like to see your apartment. You've had it a while and I've never seen it."

"Things have been busy."

"Understatement of the decade!" After a moment, "I'm glad you have your own place. I felt bad for you staying at that dreary motel or the CBI attic."

"'No one forced me. Though 'home sweet motel room' was getting old. Like living out of a very large suitcase."

"Ten years! I should think so. And the attic was an exercise in self-punishment."

"It wasn't that bad. -Glad the team's made short work of the latest case. Obvious and boring."

"The CBI _still _doesn't exist for your amusement, Jane."

They ordered by phone. After getting the food, they headed for Jane's apartment.

"Red John. Blake Association. Red John's friends. And now I'm getting a shot at the director's position. A _lot_ of change - mostly good, but still. How do you feel about it all?"

Jane sighed. "Relieved. Satisfied I finished what I started. And free."

"Free?"

"Free to forget about Red John. Free not to center my life on the murder of my family."

"Jane, I'm so glad you held back, let Haffner fire first. Justified shooting."

He shifted uncomfortably, bile rising at the thought of Red John. "I could only do it because of the team. I knew he wouldn't get away. Glad he's dead, though."

"Me too, God forgive me. You have a future now. . . And what do you want from that future?"

"I want a life with you. Beyond that, I'm not sure."

Gently, "Jane, you've devoted ten years to avenging your family. Give yourself time. Maybe you should just go someplace beautiful for awhile and do nothing."

He grinned wryly. "Last time I tried that I was nearly blown up. . . There isn't anything I feel like doing. It's like going down a flight of stairs, thinking there's an extra step at the bottom. Jarring. Disconcerting."

"What's fun for you? Enjoyable?" Sadness shadowed his face and he looked away. She thought, _Ending Red John means moving on from his family, too. Bittersweet. _As the silence stretched too long, Lisbon added softly, "Hey, maybe that's too big a question right now. Just take it day by day. Maybe start with what you _don't_ want." Jane glanced at her, swallowed, and hesitated. Lisbon sensed tension he was trying to hide. Quietly, "What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "I don't know how I feel about CBI," he finally said, uneasily awaiting her reaction.

"I kinda thought that could be an issue. The pain and gore of homicide investigations aren't a natural fit for you. Coping with Red John for so long has only made it worse."

He frowned and shook his head. "It's not all negative. I like the team, I like solving cases. It's just..." his voice trailed off.

"Jane, may I make a suggestion?"

"Sure. I wouldn't have brought it up otherwise."

"Changing your whole life is too much. What if you just try small changes to make it better?"

"Like?

"Work only on unusual or interesting cases. Maybe fewer of them. You're a great asset for the CBI, but you don't have to continue under the same terms."

"Might be a first step. But if I worked on fewer cases, what would take their place?"

"Well, the new specialist program may provide different types of cases. Also, you have a great reputation in California. You could also consult with PD's or even private firms. Maybe Homeland and Abbott at the FBI. The cases don't all have to be homicides. More mystery and less gore. Or, perhaps just take it easy for awhile." Paused at a stoplight, Lisbon cupped his face in her hand. "Jane, as-your friend and partner, I don't _want_ you to fill every moment with the same work that's cost you so much. You used to enjoy life a lot more. Give yourself time to catch your breath, to remember who you used to be. Read, hike, travel, whatever."

"Won't that upset your apple cart at CBI?"

"You're a superb detective and you've given a lot to CBI and to me. But I'd be a poor excuse for a friend to expect you to put my career before your own best interests."

"Hmm. I'll think about it. The option of turning down some cases and figuring out new types of crime is interesting. -Oh, my building is the next right. Turn here."

**The Apartment**

Jane's apartment was on the third floor of a modern, medium-sized building surrounded by trees. He unlocked the door and held it open for Lisbon. She stepped a few paces inside and waited while he closed and bolted the door.

The apartment was modern and inviting: Planked, stained-wood cathedral ceiling, pale gray walls, burnished wood flooring, modern fireplace. Large windows flanked the fireplace and looked out on treetops, lending it privacy and a connection with the outdoors. The pale beige leather sofa and easy chairs managed clean lines without sacrificing comfort. The dining room and living room tables had simple forms. Their beauty lay in the figured wood and shining satin finish. An oriental rug was centered between the sofa and chairs. Predominantly cream and medium gray, jewel tones in the design brought it to life. A vivid Nierman oil painting and several good copies of Monets graced the walls. Bookcases were already half-filled, a testimony to Jane's constant reading. The room was uncluttered but looked lived-in from the several partly-read books, a casually folded throw, and an abandoned cup and saucer–Jane's ubiquitous tea.

Lisbon looked around the living/dining room. "How did a carny kid come by such great taste?"

"Thank you. Umm, avoiding all those bad examples, maybe."

"'Modern' often ends up cold and sterile. This is beautiful. Warm."

"The wood makes all the difference." He laid his suit jacket across the back of the sofa and temporarily set the take-out bag on the pass-through counter to the kitchen. Lisbon took off her jacket and laid it next to his. He offered and she accepted his two-bit tour.

They stepped into the kitchen. More clean lines, stone counter-tops, ceramic tiled floor, stainless-finish appliances. It was small, functional and attractive.

"Eating at the counter lets me use the breakfast area for a desk and bookcase. The light is great and it's close to the kitchen."

Lisbon nodded and smiled. "Close to the tea, you mean. I like the view of trees from both directions." She moved back into the hall. Jane followed, then retraced his steps to put the take-out bag into the refrigerator. Lisbon glanced into his bedroom without going in. A second bedroom was largely unfurnished and unused. The main bathroom and a laundry-storage area completed the tour. The apartment was all of a piece–all clean lines, modern, and tasteful in keeping with Jane, himself. She smiled to herself, _He's more of a homebody than I am. 'Course, it helps to have money when you're setting your place up. _She returned to the living room and stood by a window to better look out over the city lights, brilliant in the darkness. Jane stopped a pace behind her.

He lightly rested his hands on her shoulders. Lisbon started slightly and glanced over her shoulder. "Jane?"

"Come here," he said softly as he gently turned her to face him. "Teresa, I've waited a long time to tell you I love you," eyes dark, drinking her in.

She drew a deep breath in surprise and pleasure. "We've both waited a long time. Are you su–"

He interrupted, "This is one change I'm sure of. I've been sure for years." One hand lightly on her back, he tilted her chin up and brushed her lips in a kiss.

Lisbon leaned closer and kissed him back. They relaxed into the moment, their kisses growing more confident, passionate, intimate. Jane slid his arms comfortably around her waist and stepped closer, reveling in the feel of her body against his. She rested one hand on his waist and stroked his cheek with the other. Warmth and fullness washed over her, heating her to the core. She could hardly ignore evidence of his interest, his passion, pressing against her body.

"Jane, do you think–"

He interrupted her with a kiss. "Teresa, let's leave the thinking for later if you don't mind."

"You know I'm in love with you." Lisbon embraced him tightly for a second, eyes closed. Tears of emotional overload gathered on her eyelashes like dew.

"I thought so. I love hearing you say it."

She drew back slightly, opening her eyes. She grinned. "You, who are so good at reading people, couldn't have a doubt in your mind!" Incredulous, "You only 'thought' so?"

"Hey. The greater the personal stake, the harder an accurate read. I didn't want to presume too much. –I recall the term 'arrogant' coming up a few times." He punctuated the sentence with kisses he planted on her lips, along her jaw, along her throat. "So, yes, I'm pleased to hear you say it." He murmured, "Can I interest you in seeing the bedroom?"

"Thought you'd never ask," she breathed, eyes bright with desire.

Lisbon gave a little yelp of surprise as Jane scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom. Setting her on her feet, "Now, where were we?"

Jane toed off his shoes and quickly pulled off socks. Lisbon did the same, suddenly two inches shorter, more vulnerable, more feminine. Standing close, he unbuttoned her blouse, pulled it loose from her pants. Impatient with the clothing, he planted a trail of kisses down her throat and between her breasts as he slipped it off her shoulders. She shivered with a frisson of pleasure. The silky fabric slid over her skin like a caress.

Lisbon reciprocated by unbuttoned his vest and shirt, kissing his chest as each additional inch of skin was revealed. She helped slide the sleeves off his arms, taking the opportunity to stroke his chest. His nipples hardened as she brushed them with her fingertips and then kissed them.

Stroking her bare shoulders, Jane found the slight, faint ridge of scar tissue where Red John's disciple O'Laughlin had shot her. He kissed the shoulder tenderly. "I'm so sorry you were hurt."

Softly but firmly, "No. No more regrets, Jane. We focus on the future from now on." She traced her fingers over the all-but invisible scars from Barlow and Haffner, and the more recent scars from the bullet wounds. She took her own advice and set aside lingering sadness to enjoy being close, revel in finally taking the next step.

Jane slid his hands around her back and unhooked her bra, waves of sensation rippling from his touch. He brought his hands forward, simultaneously sliding her bra off and cupping her breasts. She moaned in pleasure. They kissed as he fondled her breasts, then he nibbled them and licked and sucked her nipples erect. Her body was petite and taut, her breasts surprisingly lush.

"Oh my." He sighed and kissed the hollow of her throat, rubbing her nipples gently. Drawing back, he gazed hungrily at her partly-naked body. "You're beautiful. More than I even imagined." He breathed faster and urgently pulled her to him.

Lisbon's blush started with her cheeks and spread to her neck, chest, breasts. "When did this imagining happen? I try hard to keep it professional at work."

"Yes, you do," he said between kisses, "I've had years of trying not to go there. Men can't help but wonder." He nuzzled her hair and lightly bit an earlobe, enjoying the light scent of pomegranate and citrus from her shampoo. He traced the delicate ridges of her ear with his tongue, triggering a shiver of desire. "You know, the tough cop image really is betrayed by your flagrantly beautiful hair," he whispered.

One hand tangled in her hair, Jane's other hand skimmed down her hip to her thigh, then to the inside of her thighs. She shuddered and thrust her hips forward. He reached to unbuckle her belt but she stopped him. "Um, let me put my gun and badge aside. Shooting ourselves won't be erotic." He shook his head once, charmed and amused. She set the gun and badge on the dresser, then stepped back to him.

He unbuckled her belt, unhooked the waistband and unzipped her pants. He slid them down, moving from her improbably small waist to the sweet flare of her hips, making the practical into a caress. She mirrored his actions, unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning the waistband and unzipping the fly. His pants promptly fell to the floor from his narrow hips. They stepped out of their clothing. "Oh." Lisbon smiled, faintly embarrassed.

"What?" he smiled in response.

"I wondered what type of shorts you wore–don't ask me why."

He grinned, amused. "Whatever."

Still kissing her breasts, teasing her nipples with his tongue, Jane slipped his hands under the band and pulled her panties off, enjoying the feel of her curves. She tried sliding his shorts down, but they hung up on his erection.

Sheepishly, he untangled himself from his underwear. "Sorry. Can't help it."

Enjoying his self-consciousness, "Wouldn't want you to. I take it as a compliment."

Jane stepped back and admired her, head to toe. Dark, wavy brown hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, a sharp contrast to luminous, pale skin. As always, her face was dominated by striking, gray-green eyes. He caught his breath and stepped closer, unable to resist stroking her naked body from shoulder to thigh, then back up to her breasts. He kissed her passionately, sighed and stepped back, "Mmm. Just gorgeous."

She frankly looked him up and down as well. Jane was lean and well-built with long limbs, neither soft nor hard. His hair was an exuberant jumble of bronze curls and waves. She enjoyed light from the living room glinting off the golden hair on his arms and legs. She had long loved his face and delighted in the freedom to touch as well as look. "You're not hard on the eyes yourself," she said, approvingly. She stepped close and pressed her body to his as they kissed and caressed. Her hand drifted down. He gasped as she grasped him with fingers and thumb. He cupped the cheeks of her ass and pulled her even closer.

They moved to the bed without disengaging. Jane freed a hand to pull down the covers. They sat on the edge, then slid between smooth, crisp sheets. Lisbon lay back, arms folded under her head, inviting him to stroke her whole body. Jane lay down next to her sideways, propped up on his left elbow, and proceeded to do just that. He kissed her mouth, then worked his way down, worrying her nipples gently with his lips and teeth. He stroked her with his right hand, caressing her from her breasts to her thighs. A wave of heat followed his hand. She drew her breath in sharply as he brushed the insides of her thighs. Her legs parted slightly, involuntarily, blood throbbing. He sought and found the well of luscious lubrication. He spread it up to her clitoris, getting more excited himself as she trembled, flexed her knees and splayed her legs. She tilted her pelvis to meet his caresses as he fondled and explored her, movements and breathing faster, urgent.

She ran her hand over his chest, rubbed his nipples, and kissed all the skin she could reach. She lightly scraped the inside of his upper arms with her fingernails, goose bumps trailing her touch. As they kissed, she reached down and pushed the foreskin back and gently rubbed the head. His erection couldn't be stronger. She explored further, gently caressing his balls before returning to his penis.

Jane abruptly lay back and took a deep breath. "Uh, let me get something while I can," he said and fumbled to open the night stand drawer with his right hand.

Suddenly cold as he pulled away, "Jane. Jane!" Lisbon said sharply enough to get his attention.

"What?"

"If I got pregnant, would you want the baby?"

He blinked in surprise, struggling to change gears and answer coherently. "Yes, yes, I'd want our child."

Lisbon pulled him back to her, "Don't bother with a condom."

Nonplussed, "You're sure?"

"You're not the only one who's thought about this for years. I'd love to have your child. You're the only man I've felt that way about."

He took a deep breath, determined to be responsible, to put her at ease before continuing. "I had the follow-up blood tests after Haffner cut me. I'm clean."

"As am I. Now come back here."

He exhaled a deep, shuddering breath, lay against her again, and kissed her thoroughly. He fondled her intimately, long fingers piercing her, manipulating her, mapping her erogenous topography. His excitement grew with her every moan and shiver.

"Now, how can I please you?" He fondled her, exploring what pleased her most, what got the most passionate response. "There?"

"There's good. Up a little. And faster. Mmm." She soon was incapable of words and he used her breathing and moans and thrusts to guide him.

He brought her to the brink of orgasm, held her there for long moments, then triggered the release. She moaned in pleasure, melting and finally relaxing.

She took a breath, let it out slowly. "Worth waiting for. Now come inside me," she whispered. "Your turn." He positioned himself over her and entered her with a smooth, powerful thrust. She gasped in pleasure at the sudden fullness. He rhythmically thrust, burying himself in her, losing himself in her depths as she spread her legs wide, doggedly controlling, containing himself until she was ready again, nails digging into his back as she climbed toward another orgasm. He gave in to his own desire as he felt her go over the edge, coming in an ecstasy of contractions and flood of ejaculate. The release was all the sweeter for years of delay and denial.

Spent, Jane kissed her and stayed atop her for a few moments more. He rolled to the side and lightly stroked her body.

"Do you need more, my dear?"

Lisbon shook her head, leaned over and kissed him, then lay back.

After a few moments, "I could get used to this. Another reason to love you."

"Just another way of expressing it. Teresa, I've loved you for years. I'm finally free to act."

"Thank God. I love you."

He lay back, surrendering to the urge to doze. Time stretched before them. They had finally moved forward. There would be weeks and months and years to explore the finer points of desire, learn every way of creating joy with each other. Just now, a marathon wasn't necessary. He fervently wanted it to be about more than sex.

She snuggled against him, head on his left shoulder, arm casually across his chest, leg comfortably over his. He pulled the sheet over them, fending off the chill, conditioned air. He occasionally stirred, clasping her to him and kissing the top of her head. She idly stroked his chest, drowsing contentedly.

Half-an-hour later, their stomachs growled in hunger, waking them.

Blinking awake, "Oh!" she said, stricken.

Concerned, "What is it?"

"The food is spoiled by now. And I'm still famished."

She could hear the smile in his voice as he replied, "No problem. It's in the refrigerator."

"You had this all planned out, didn't you?" she accused.

"No, but I take advantage of my opportunities."

Jane sat up and stretched. He kissed Lisbon lightly and got out of bed. Lisbon enjoyed watching him, body sleekly muscled and nicely formed, hands and feet almost elegant. Rummaging in a drawer, he tossed her a dress shirt fresh from the dry cleaner. "Here's something to put on, if you'd like. Let's eat." He donned his shorts and shirt, buttoning it part way.

Lisbon fetched and slipped on panties, then put on his shirt. It was a comfortable mid-thigh length on her.

Jane pulled her close, kissed her, then shepherded her toward the kitchen, hand lightly on the small of her back. He warmed the take-out in the microwave, put water on to boil, and set out plates and silverware. They sat at the counter and ate dinner. Afterward, he made tea and instant coffee and warmed some bakery muffins for dessert.

They moved to the living room with their beverages and dessert. She sat next to him, folding her legs under her and leaning against him. They delighted in the new freedom to touch, she stroking his leg and he casually embracing her and playing with her hair.

"What now, Jane?"

"Stay the night? The weekend?"

"Sure. But, now what? Where do we go from here?"

"I know where I want this to go. I need to hear what you want, Teresa."

Lisbon took a breath and let it out. "I'll say it straight-up, then. The only thing I ask is that you level with me–no tricks, no hiding what you think and want." She straightened and shifted slightly so she faced him.

"Tell me."

"I love you and want to live my life with you. Be married–no hiding or dodging around. I need to continue being a cop. If I could have everything, I'd like us both to stay at the CBI. I don't know if it's possible."

"You've put up with a lot over the years. I've tried to create fewer headaches for you. But I can't promise any dramatic change. And you've paid a price for my secrets, half‑truths and lies while I hunted Red John. I can't change the past-I did what I had to. I never took you for granted, even though it cost you as well. You know what you'll be getting. Permanently." Apprehensive, he rubbed his thighs uneasily, shoulders stiff with tension.

Lisbon looked at him levelly, tenderly. She stilled his hands with hers. "You never hid your commitment to getting Red John. No regrets, Jane. ‑‑Going forward, I don't expect you to change who you are–don't _want_ you to. A little moderation would be good. Whatever you choose for work, don't take so many risks, especially if we have kids. And talk to me more–I don't want to have to guess where I stand or what's going on. After ten years I know what I'm getting. You're who I want."

He sighed in relief. "What about kids?" his gaze intent upon her reaction.

"Jane, you're wonderful with kids. I'd love to have your children." She sighed and frowned. "I'm not 20 anymore. It's hard to get pregnant at 40. What–" she swallowed, "what if I can't have children?"

"I want us to marry and share our lives, no matter what. I want to try to have a family. If it doesn't work, could we adopt?"

"Yes."

Jane kissed her, the tension leaving his body. "See? Not so hard."

Lisbon touched the wedding band on his left hand. "What about this?"

"This," Jane replied as he held up his left hand, "is why I'm sure you're who I should marry. I couldn't give you anything on the personal side till now. Yet you've helped honor my wife and daughter for years by supporting my hunt for Red John. Any interest I had in other women felt like I was betraying Angela. I've never felt that with you."

"I can't compete with Angela. Wouldn't want to try."

"There's no competition–you're very similar. I trust you, admire your strength. You know what you believe and live your life accordingly. You _require_ me to be better than I am. Somehow, you love me despite my failings. All true of Angela, too."

"Not so many failings–that's mainly style, surface stuff. Jane, you're a kind, generous, gentle person. I know it. Everyone on the team knows it."

"Oh, please."

"You can't accept an honest compliment?"

Jane kissed her. "I appreciate the thought, but I know myself too well. Too many years I would change if I could."

"Hey. It's not about being a plaster saint. One measure is how far you've had to come. You liked being a psychic because you made people feel good, didn't you? Your father took that and twisted it into callousness and greed. Samantha told me. That detour took years to undo."

"Tempting but too easy. I _liked_ the money and attention. I wanted to be the smartest person in the room."

"And usually you are. Is that conceit? Or fact? You don't seem as compelled to put on a show anymore, to be 'on' all the time. No one doubts how much you bring to the table. You're undeniably brilliant. It took a while longer to realize you work hard on cases, even if it looks like goofing off."

He grinned and threw up his hands. "Okay. I'm terrific and everyone knows it. Great."

Smiling in response, "I see that's enough praise, or I'm going to regret it. -What about work-if we both continue working for the CBI?"

Serious again, "Let's see if we can get the flexibility we need."

Dismayed, "Jane, I'm the director now. Married couples just _can't_ report to one another."

"If I work with Cho, will that do it?"

"Maybe. I've got to think about what will work for the whole CBI. And what will work when different people are involved."

"You mean those other people who aren't as perfect as we are?"

She whapped him lightly on the chest. "I mean people who are human, _just_ like us."

"Lisbon, you see the organization and rules. I see a crowd of people waiting to be persuaded." He added hastily, "I'm not saying you're a slave to a rule book. You believe in rules because you see value in them–order, discipline, predictability. I'm just saying rules are made by people. Somehow we'll find a way to get what we need."

Still apprehensive, "I'm not sure, Jane."

"Look, we're most of the way there. The AG and governor _want_ you, for heaven's sake. I close a lot of cases making everyone look good. I agree I can't report directly to you, but some accommodation should be possible. We'll make it work. I am a little concerned about the team. Rigsby and Van Pelt went through hell before the rules changed. And will Cho be okay working with me if he reports to you?"

"Non-issue. You and I were already operating as partners. Adding a personal life won't make a difference so long as work stays the same." Suddenly shifting to her professional persona, "And it has to stay the same. If we're married, it doesn't change how things have to be at CBI. Rigsby and Van Pelt are married but I still expect them to behave as professionals. Cho doesn't care so long as everyone pulls his weight without letting the personal interfere. If you work with Cho, _you_ have to make it work with him. I'm still going to give you grief when you deserve it."

He smiled, "I expect no less. I don't want you to change, either."

"And how can we manage kids in all this? I think I can do the director's job, but there will be long hours."

"I'll do whatever we need to make it work. Teresa, I don't expect you to change who you are. You need to be a cop and you finally have the opportunity you deserve. After I royally complicated your career for ten years, this is my chance to make it up to you. As a consultant, I'll have more flexibility. We'll get help. We'll make it work. The only thing I absolutely need is you."

They settled back on the sofa, comfortable spending time together without talking. He continued a book he'd started. She listened to jazz he had recorded.

Every so often she glanced at him, delighted he was feeling good. Hunting Red John had been dangerous, grueling and depressing for years. She missed a certain lightness and playfulness that Jane had earlier in his time at CBI. She was hopeful that side of him hadn't been lost forever. No more regrets.

* * *

**A/N: To Guest (March 4): I'm very much interested in your reaction: **"Your jane & lisbon in this were were very au & not like the show unfortunately..." **If you have time/inclination, I very much would like to better understand your "take." Please feel free to expand on your comment if you have the time. Thanks for reading and your interesting comment.**


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